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

Li Bai huddled in the crevice, his wounds burning with pain. He tore off a piece of his sleeve and hastily bandaged the scratches on his arm, but blood still seeped out, staining the coarse cloth red. Outside, the wolves hadn't left; he could hear their heavy breathing and the scratching of their claws on the ground. The crevice was narrow, barely enough for him to squeeze through, and the air was thick with the mingled smells of earth and blood. He touched his pack—it was torn, most of the roasted rice was spilled, only a few pieces of dried meat remained, and his water pouch was completely empty. Hunger gripped his stomach like an invisible hand. Was he really going to die here? Die in this unknown deep mountain, disappearing silently like those herb gatherers and hunters? He closed his eyes, feeling an unprecedented exhaustion and… a trace of fear. Just then, in the distance, through the low growls of the wolves and the rustling of the forest wind, he faintly heard a sound—thump, thump, thump. Rhythmic, muffled, like a knocking sound coming from the depths of the earth. It's not a natural sound.

***

three days ago.

Li Bai stood on the mountain ridge west of Black Wind Ridge, gazing at the boundless green ocean below.

That was the primeval forest of the main ridge of the Shu Mountains, stretching from our feet to the distant mountains, layer upon layer, an intensely dark green. The trees were astonishingly tall, their canopies appearing and disappearing in the morning mist like giant spears piercing the sky. A grayish-white miasma permeated the forest, like a thin veil, slowly flowing and obscuring the view beneath. There were no paths, or rather, they had been completely buried by rampant vines, fallen rotten wood, and thick layers of fallen leaves. A complex smell wafted in the air—the stench of rotting wood, damp earth, some kind of pungent plant aroma, and a faint, almost imperceptible, sulfurous odor.

He took a deep breath and adjusted the bag on his shoulder. The bag was heavy, containing supplies he had purchased in a village at the foot of Mount Emei: twenty jin of fried rice, five jin of dried meat, a bag of salt, two water bags, a bundle of rope, several changes of coarse cloth clothing, and a packet of insect and snake repellent herbs. The hilt of the short sword at his waist was tightly wrapped with cloth to prevent slipping. In his arms, the mysterious wooden plaque pressed against his chest, radiating a faint warmth.

"A black square stone with eyes carved on it..." Li Bai repeated the woodcutter's words in a low voice, "a road sign."

He gave his equipment one last check, then stepped down the slope and into the edge of the forest.

The light dimmed instantly.

The treetops overhead formed a massive, airtight tent, with only a few slivers of sunlight filtering through the gaps, casting dappled patterns on the moss-covered ground. The air grew damp and heavy; each breath carried a heavy moisture, like inhaling lukewarm water. The layer of fallen leaves beneath my feet was astonishingly thick, soft and yielding with each step, sinking me half a foot deeper. The rotting leaves emitted a cloying, musty aroma, mingled with the earthy stench, assaulting my nostrils.

Li Bai drew his short sword and slashed at the vines blocking his path. The vines were exceptionally tough; the blade struck them with a dull thud, the impact numbing his hand. Some vines had sharp thorns that tore his sleeves, leaving tiny bloody marks on his arms. He carefully avoided the brightly colored mushrooms and strangely shaped plants—his geological knowledge from his previous life told him that in this primitive environment, the more vibrant something was, the more dangerous it often was.

After walking for about half an hour, he was soaked through. Not sweat, but the mist condensing in the forest, clinging to his clothes and skin, cool and sticky. The sweat, however, was trapped inside, steaming and making him feel extremely uncomfortable. He stopped and leaned against a huge cedar tree, catching his breath. The rough bark of the trunk rubbed against his back, providing a real tactile sensation. He looked up; the surrounding scenery was almost identical—huge trees, tangled vines, thick layers of fallen leaves, dappled sunlight. His sense of direction was rapidly disappearing.

"Don't panic," Li Bai told himself.

He crouched down and carefully examined the ground. Beneath the layer of fallen leaves lay black humus, moist and loose. He brushed aside a leaf, revealing the soil beneath. The soil was dark reddish in color and fine-grained, typical of mountain red soil, indicating that the geological foundation of this area was sandstone or shale. He stood up and observed the growth of the surrounding trees—most of them leaned slightly in the same direction, and the density of their canopies was also uneven, with one side being more densely packed.

"Wind direction," Li Bai murmured.

The Sichuan region is mostly swept by southeasterly winds, and trees, constantly affected by these winds, tend to lean towards the northwest. The side with the densest canopy is usually the leeward side, which is southeast. Based on this, he roughly determined his direction of travel—northwest, which is the depths beyond the Black Wind Ridge that the woodcutter had described as "westward."

He continued forward, paying closer attention to the geological changes beneath his feet. When encountering steeper slopes, he would first observe the exposed rock. If the rock surface had obvious stratification and smooth bedding surfaces, it indicated a potential landslide risk, and he would choose to detour. When encountering low-lying areas, he would first throw a stone to test the waters—if the stone landed with a dull "thud" and sank quickly, it meant there was a swamp or mud pit below, and he had to avoid it.

The first day has passed just like that.

As dusk fell, Li Bai found a relatively dry recess in the rock face to use as his campsite. He cleared a space with his short sword, gathered some dry branches and pine needles, and started a small fire with a tinderbox. The flames leaped, dispelling the surrounding dampness and darkness, and bringing a touch of warmth. He poured the last bit of water from his water pouch into a small earthenware pot, added a handful of roasted rice and a small piece of dried meat, and cooked it into a thin porridge over the fire. The porridge had a faint aroma, but in this environment, it was an unparalleled delicacy.

He ate while checking himself over. The scratches on his arms had scabbed over, but were still itchy from the sweat. Several blisters had formed on the soles of his feet, making walking painful. Most troublesome was the small tear in the bottom of his bag by a sharp twig; although he patched it up in time, some fried rice had still spilled out.

"I need to be careful," Li Bai thought, looking at the remaining dry rations. At the current rate of consumption, this food would last at most four days. As for water… he shook his water pouch; less than a third of it remained. He had to find a water source tomorrow.

The forest is not quiet at night.

In the distance came the long, mournful howl of an unknown wild beast, echoing through the mountains. Nearby, there was a rustling sound, like small animals moving beneath the fallen leaves. Occasionally, the sound of flapping wings came from the treetops overhead, perhaps from nocturnal birds. Most unsettling was a continuous, low buzzing sound, like countless insects flapping their wings simultaneously, or like the earth itself breathing.

Li Bai leaned against the rock wall, his short sword across his knees, not daring to truly fall asleep. The firelight only illuminated a few feet around him; beyond that lay unfathomable darkness. He recalled his past life's experiences exploring the wilderness, back then he had modern equipment, GPS, satellite phones, and a team. Now, he had only a short sword, some dry rations, and the knowledge spanning millennia in his mind.

"Yang Yuhuan..." he murmured the name, the face that looked exactly like Yang Xiaohuan appearing before his eyes. What was she doing now? Was she in the inner chambers of the Yang mansion, dressing in front of the mirror, or had she already been forced to learn court etiquette? There were at most three or four days before the eunuchs arrived in Chengdu. And he was still trapped in this vast forest, without even seeing a trace of the Sword Immortal's inheritance.

A sense of frustration crept over him like vines. But he quickly shook his head, suppressing the thought.

"I can't give up," he told himself. "I've come this far; there's no turning back."

He added a few dry branches to the fire, the flames crackling and sparks flying. In the leaping firelight, he seemed to see those bronze masks again, those enormous eyes, those rhythmic chants. Dreams and reality, past lives and present lives, geological knowledge and mystical legends—all these fragments pointed in the same direction.

He has to keep going.

***

The situation became even more difficult the next day.

The forest grew increasingly dense, the trees so close together that sometimes one had to squeeze through sideways. Vines, like a vast, crisscrossing net, almost completely blocked any path forward. Li Bai had to frequently swing his sword, hacking away at the trees, his strength dwindling considerably. Sweat soaked through his inner and outer garments, clinging to his body, cold and heavy. His breathing became labored, each inhale carrying the damp, slightly putrid air of the forest.

Around noon, he was lucky enough to find a stream.

The stream was narrow, only about a foot wide, its water crystal clear, flowing gently among the moss-covered rocks. Li Bai knelt by the stream, carefully observing the water—clear in color, odorless, with fine sand and pebbles at the bottom, and no signs of excessive algae growth. He then looked upstream, finding no animal carcasses or other sources of pollution. Only then did he feel reassured and scoop up some water, drinking deeply.

The water was cool and slightly sweet, sliding down his parched throat like sweet dew, refreshing his entire body. He drank his fill, then filled both water bags and ate some fried rice and dried meat with the stream water. After resting for about half an hour, his strength had recovered somewhat, and he continued on his way.

But the good luck didn't last long.

In the afternoon, he encountered a swamp.

It was a seemingly flat, open area, overgrown with dense aquatic plants and low shrubs. The ground appeared solid, but when Li Bai threw a stone, it didn't bounce but sank slowly, leaving a trail of tiny bubbles on its surface. He crouched down to carefully observe the vegetation—the aquatic plants were of a single species and grew excessively, typical characteristics of a swampy wetland. A faint, rotten egg-like odor wafted in the air—the smell of hydrogen sulfide, indicating anaerobic decomposition of organic matter at the bottom of the swamp.

"Go around it," Li Bai decided decisively.

He walked along the edge of the swamp for nearly an hour before finding a relatively dry passage. This journey had taken a great deal of time and energy, and by the time he had reoriented himself, it was already getting dark.

On the third day, the crisis struck.

Their provisions were almost gone. Less than five jin of fried rice remained, and only three pieces of dried meat. The water in their water pouch was also only half full. Worse still, the blisters on Li Bai's feet had burst, making every step feel like walking on knives. He had to tear off pieces of his clothing to wrap his feet, but the effect was limited. His pace slowed noticeably.

In the afternoon, he sat down to rest on a fallen giant tree, taking off his shoes to examine his injured foot. The blisters had broken and were red and swollen, with whitish edges, signs of infection. He took out the packet of herbs from his bag, picked out a few with anti-inflammatory properties, chewed them up, applied them to the wound, and then bandaged it with a clean strip of cloth. The bitter taste of the herbs filled his mouth, mixed with the smell of blood and sweat, making him feel nauseous.

Just then, he heard a sound.

It wasn't the sound of wind, nor the sound of water, but a low, guttural whimper emanating from deep within a throat. The sound came from the bushes to the left, no more than twenty paces away.

Li Bai froze, then slowly raised his head.

The bushes were swaying. It wasn't the wind; something was moving inside. He held his breath, his right hand slowly reaching for the short sword at his waist, while his left hand quietly grabbed a withered branch as thick as an arm beside him.

The whimper turned into a low growl.

Then, the first wolf emerged from the bushes.

It was a grayish-brown adult male wolf, larger than Li Bai had imagined, its shoulder height almost reaching his waist. The wolf's eyes were amber, gleaming coldly in the dim forest. It stared at Li Bai, its mouth gaping open to reveal gleaming white fangs, a threatening growl emanating from its throat. Saliva dripped from between its teeth, leaving dark stains on the fallen leaves.

Then, a second, a third… a total of five wolves emerged from the bushes, spreading out in a fan shape, slowly approaching. They were all very thin, their ribs clearly visible beneath their fur, obviously having been hungry for a long time. Hunger made them even more dangerous.

Li Bai's heart pounded, blood rushed to his head, and his ears rang. Never in his life had he faced a real beast so closely. His geological engineering knowledge was utterly useless here, and his poetic genius was a joke. All he could rely on was the short sword, less than two feet long, and a withered branch.

He slowly rose to his feet, moving as steadily as possible to avoid provoking the wolves. He leaned against the fallen giant tree, at least then he wouldn't have to worry about being attacked from behind. He drew his short sword, its blade gleaming coldly in the dim light. He held a withered branch in front of him, as an additional barrier.

The wolves halted, but the encirclement slowly tightened. They were intelligent; instead of attacking rashly, they observed and searched for an opening. The lead male wolf circled around to Li Bai's flank, while the others maintained pressure. The air was thick with the pungent smell of wolves, mingled with their warm breath.

Time passed second by second.

Cold sweat beaded on Li Bai's forehead, trickling down his cheeks and dripping into his eyes, causing a stinging sensation. He dared not blink, his eyes fixed on the lead male wolf. His arms began to tremble from being tense for so long, but he forced himself to remain steady. He knew that if he showed any fear, the pack would pounce immediately.

The stalemate lasted for about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea.

The lead male wolf seemed to have lost patience. It slightly bent its hind legs, tensed its muscles, and then pounced! The movement was as fast as lightning, bringing with it a stench.

Almost instinctively, Li Bai dodged to the side, simultaneously swinging a dry branch. The branch struck the wolf's flank with a dull thud. The wolf, in pain, staggered upon landing, but immediately turned and pounced again. This time, Li Bai didn't completely dodge; the wolf's claws slashed across his left arm, tearing his sleeve, splitting the flesh, and causing blood to gush out instantly.

The sharp pain made Li Bai gasp, but he had no time to tend to his wound. Another wolf pounced from his right, and he swung his sword to parry. The blade clashed with the wolf's fangs, producing a piercing scraping sound. Sparks flew, and the wolf's fangs left deep scratches on the sword. The immense impact made Li Bai's arm go numb, and he nearly dropped his short sword.

The third wolf seized the opportunity to pounce from the front, aiming straight for the throat.

Li Bai had no time to parry his sword and could only raise his left arm to block. The wolf bit down on his arm, its fangs digging deep into his flesh. He groaned in pain and thrust his right-hand short sword fiercely into the wolf's neck. The tip of the sword entered the flesh, but not deep enough. The wolf released its grip in pain, staggered back a few steps, and blood gushed from its neck.

But this also exhausted Li Bai's last bit of strength.

He staggered backward, leaning against the giant tree, panting heavily. Blood gushed from the wound on his left arm, and his right hand trembled as he held the sword. Although the wolf pack was also wounded, three were still unharmed and were closing in menacingly. Their eyes gleamed with hunger and madness, and their saliva dripped even more rapidly.

"Am I going to die here...?" The thought flashed through my mind.

No.

I must not die.

Yang Yuhuan is still waiting for him. The person he was willing to protect across a thousand years, the person from Yang Xiaohuan's past life. He hasn't found the sword immortal's inheritance, hasn't changed his fate, hasn't...

Just then, he caught a glimpse of a narrow crevice at the base of the giant tree.

It was a naturally formed crevice, half-hidden by tree roots and moss, barely wide enough for one person to squeeze through sideways. The crevice was deep and pitch black inside, its destination unknown. But at this moment, it was the only way out.

Li Bai did not hesitate.

With his last ounce of strength, he hurled the withered branch at the lead wolf, then turned and charged desperately toward the crevice in the rocks. The wolves were startled by this sudden movement, but quickly recovered and howled as they gave chase.

Li Bai squeezed sideways into the crevice, the rough rock scraping against his body, rubbing his wounds and causing him excruciating pain that made his vision blur. He struggled to push his way in, the crevice growing narrower and narrower until he was practically rubbing against the rock wall. Behind him, the piercing sound of wolf claws scratching at the rock rang out. A wolf's head tried to squeeze in, but the gap was too narrow, only allowing half its nose to fit through, its fangs leaving white marks on the rock wall.

He continued to squeeze in until he reached a deeper crevice where the space became slightly more spacious. He then slumped down, leaning against the cold rock wall, panting heavily.

Outside, the wolves hadn't left. He could hear their heavy breathing, the scratching of their claws on the ground, and their reluctant growls. But they couldn't get in. At least for now, he was safe.

Excruciating pain, exhaustion, fear, and the utter despair of surviving a close call all rushed over him. Li Bai looked down to examine his injuries—the wolf bite on his left arm was a bloody mess, the wound so deep that bone was visible. The scratch on his right arm was shallower, but it was still bleeding profusely. His baggage had been torn in the struggle; most of the fried rice had spilled out, only a few pieces of dried meat remained, and his water pouch was completely deflated, all the water leaking out.

Hunger, thirst, blood loss, pain... all the adverse factors combined together.

He tore off a piece of his sleeve and hastily bandaged his wound. The cloth was quickly soaked with blood. He leaned against the rock wall, closed his eyes, and felt his consciousness gradually fading. Darkness surged in from all directions, like a cold tide, threatening to engulf him.

Am I really going to die here? Die in this unknown deep mountain, disappearing without a trace like those herb gatherers and hunters?

Despair clung to me like vines, tightening its grip.

Just then—

thump.

A dull thud came from afar, its sound faintly reaching his ears through the rock face and the earth.

Li Bai suddenly opened his eyes.

thump.

Another sound.

The rhythmic, evenly spaced sounds resembled something enormous striking rocks, or... metal? The sound was deep and muffled, yet exceptionally clear, standing out starkly in the silent depths of the mountains.

It's not a natural sound.

Absolutely not.

The wolves seemed to have heard the sound as well. The commotion outside paused for a moment, and then he heard the wolves growl and their footsteps fade into the distance—they were gone.

He was left alone in the crevice, accompanied only by the continuous, rhythmic tapping sound.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Each sound felt like a blow to his heart.

Li Bai struggled to sit up straight and listened intently. The sound was coming from the northwest, the direction he was originally heading. The distance was hard to judge, but it shouldn't be too far, at least... within walking distance.

He touched the wooden plaque in his arms. The plaque was slightly warm, and the patterns on it seemed to pulsate with each tap.

"The road sign..." he remembered the woodcutter's words, "a black square stone with eyes carved on it..."

Could this knocking sound be some kind of road sign?

He took a deep breath, enduring the excruciating pain, and began to check the remaining supplies. His bag was torn, but still usable; he tied the tear shut with rope. Less than five pounds of fried rice remained, along with three pieces of dried meat and some salt. His water bladder was completely ruined; he had to find a water source as soon as possible. His medicine was running low, and his wounds needed better treatment.

But at least, he's still alive.

Moreover, new clues have emerged.

The knocking continued, unhurried and gentle, like some ancient call, or like the operation of some kind of machine.

Li Bai leaned against the rock wall, closed his eyes, and carefully discerned the details of the sound. Each strike was followed by a faint echo, indicating that the sound came from a relatively enclosed space, perhaps a cave or a canyon. The rhythm of the strikes was extremely steady, with intervals almost exactly one second apart—something that could not be produced by natural phenomena.

It was man-made.

Or... something inhuman.

He opened his eyes and looked out of the crevice. Through the narrow gap, he could see a sliver of sky, already tinged with twilight. Night was about to fall again.

But this time, he did not feel despair.

The knocking continued.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Like a heartbeat, like a drumbeat, like a guide.

Li Bai tore off another piece of his sleeve and re-bandaged the wound on his arm, this time bandaging it more tightly and carefully. Then, he carefully put away the remaining fried rice and dried meat, tucked the short sword back into his waistband, and slung his pack over his shoulder.

He turned to the side and slowly squeezed out of the crevice.

Outside, the wolf pack had vanished, leaving only scattered paw prints and pools of blood on the ground, proving that the life-or-death struggle had not been an illusion. The forest returned to silence, broken only by the rustling of the wind through the treetops and the continuous knocking sound in the distance.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Li Bai stood outside the crevice in the rocks, taking a deep breath of the damp forest air. His wounds still ached, and the blisters on the soles of his feet felt like stepping on needles with every step. Hunger and thirst tormented him.

But he raised his head and looked northwest.

That's where the knocking sound came from.

It was also a place he had to go to.

He started walking, limping, towards the direction of the sound. His figure gradually disappeared into the dense forest, leaving only the rhythmic tapping sound, like a lighthouse, echoing continuously in the twilight of the deep mountains.