The Human History of Those Gods: A Continuous Stream

The sky was overcast all day, and the fields stretched out in a vast expanse.

As the last ray of sunlight was swallowed by the dark clouds, an inescapable despair filled Liang Song's heart. In just a few minutes, the dark clouds, like an ambush, poured out from all directions, as if it were a premeditated attack, a life-or-death struggle. The wind came, first gentle and fine, then in an instant it became fierce and piercing, the biting north wind like the vengeful spirits of those who died on the battlefield, twisting, roaring, tearing, and attacking.

Liang Song cursed as he struggled against the wind to control the hood of his windbreaker, trying to keep it as close to his handsome face as possible to prevent heat from escaping from his head and neck. Suddenly, a chill ran down Liang Song's spine. He frowned, looked up at the heavily clouded sky, and stiffly reached out to confirm the thing he least wanted to happen: it was snowing.

Actually, this wasn't a necessary trek. If he had simply given in and admitted defeat, there would have been no need to hike across Ai Mang Mountain at this time of year. It all started with that night's Truth or Dare game. In the days that followed, Liang Song would occasionally think back to that day: if he hadn't been blinded by greed and delusion, how could he have chosen Dare instead of Truth? Even if he chose Dare, why didn't he throw a tantrum and act like a spoiled child? Instead, he hastily packed his things and headed towards Ai Mang Mountain. Of course, this was just his stubbornness. If there were truly enlightened masters or immortals in the world, it would be a different story: A stirred heart gives rise to calamity; everything is cause and effect.

Liang Song's later thoughts stemmed from his self-understanding. In his eyes, he had always been a lazy, smooth, and charming woman who moved effortlessly among all kinds of people. More importantly, he didn't care about his reputation at all; as long as he was happy, what reputation mattered was not important.

Yet this very person, after choosing this great adventure, went into the mountains without hesitation or reservation. There's no better explanation than being blinded by greed or possessed by a vengeful spirit. Everything that followed drastically changed Liang Song's life; everything seemed both unbelievable and inescapable. Of course, at this moment, Liang Song was completely unaware of all this.

PT402 is the name of the hiking route through Ai Mang Mountain that Liang Song traversed. Although the route is long, the area it traverses is mainly concentrated in the outer mountainous area of ​​Ai Mang Mountain. It is relatively simple, beginner-friendly, and beautiful. Because it is friendly to beginners, it has always been called the Cat Trail by people in the hiking community.

If you do a quick search on Baidu, you'll know that the Maozai Trail starts at Aimangshan Forest Park, passes through Longwangquan, and ends at the summit of Erwangshan. The entire route is relatively flat, with virtually no dangerous sections. Instead, it boasts abundant forest belts, four lakes nestled among the mountains, long shrub belts, extensive wetlands, and meadows filled with wildflowers, making it a popular destination for hikers in recent years.

Everything sounded so perfect: an early spring, a breathtakingly beautiful landscape, and a man so handsome that the world seemed to pale in comparison. Oh, that was Liang Song's self-assessment. The only problem Liang Song overlooked was that it was early spring, March, a time when the weather in the Ai Mang Mountains was complex and extreme weather was frequent. Liang Song only learned this later, a full two months after he should have known.

There was something else Liang Song never expected: just 20 minutes earlier, a 5.8-magnitude earthquake had struck Ai Mang Mountain, with its epicenter located 2.8 kilometers to the northwest of him.

In the instant the birds were startled and the earth trembled, Liang Song froze for a few seconds. He had never experienced the wrath of nature alone, nor had he ever witnessed a catastrophe that seemed to destroy the world. But out of the instinct for self-preservation, he quickly lay down on the ground. Although this posture had no practical significance at this time and place, it gave him great psychological comfort.

He pressed himself against the earth, feeling its tremors and distortions, feeling the tearing force roaring from the endless abyss, as if an ancient beast, imprisoned underground for tens of thousands of years, was breaking free. It was as large as a Kunpeng, its wingspan reaching the sky, its vastness stretching for thousands of miles. The mountains and forests trembled like the roar emanating from its throat, the earth churned as if it were about to burst forth. Everything was sudden and irresistible, awakening in Liang Song the primal, raw fear dormant deep within his genes.

The tremors lasted for more than ten seconds. After Liang Song recovered from his panic, he found that Ai Mang Mountain was still Ai Mang Mountain, but his GPS walkie-talkie, worth 100,000 yuan, had malfunctioned. After confirming that the thing could no longer provide him with any help, Liang Song couldn't help but burst into tears. Perhaps he hadn't prayed to the gods before leaving home, or perhaps he had inadvertently offended some deity, causing him to suffer such misfortune at such a young age.

He kept pondering and crying in his heart, trying to analyze the details of the premonitions to find out all the reasons for his predicament, but Ai Mangshan obviously did not even give him this chance to vent. The wind and snow that attacked together came from all directions like wild beasts, noisily besieging his little remaining life. He could only try to shake off the alcohol left in his brain from the night before and try his best to recall his few memories about the cat thread.

The snow was falling thicker and thicker. Early spring snowflakes are tiny, like the fine teeth of a little elf, sharp and cold, swarming and fluttering, riding the fierce mountain winds; each one a deadly weapon. Liang Song tightened the drawstring of his hat again, quickening his pace against the wind, even though he knew he should find a sheltered rock, doing everything he could to prevent heat loss, and quietly wait for the storm to pass.

But he couldn't do it, because the area he was in was a vast, desolate alpine meadow, without a single rock the size of a fist for miles around. In such wind and snow, every second was a countdown to death, and Liang Song knew this clearly. Before he suffered hypothermia, he had to reach the distant mountain pass directly ahead, where there would be large rocky outcrops that could provide shelter from the wind, and where he could find a place to temporarily shelter and set up camp.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he finally climbed onto the large rock at the pass. Just then, amidst the howling wind and snow, he heard a small, human voice: "Uncle-Master." He was stunned, almost thinking it was a hallucination he had before his hypothermia. He shook off the snow, and a layer of tiny water droplets jumped off his clothes.

Through the gap in his goggles, he saw a small figure crouching diagonally above the rock where he was standing in the snowstorm. The figure wore what appeared to be a blue cotton robe, and a scarf of indeterminate color covered most of its face. Thick hair was piled high on its head, visible at the back of its head. The figure stood motionless, hands clasped behind its back, looking down at him.

"It's over, it must be a hallucination." Liang Song almost cried out in despair.

It was all a hallucination before the hypothermia started.

He instinctively looked around. Yes, this was still Aimang Mountain. Behind the pass was a small stone forest, enveloped by a thin strip of shrubs, resembling wild golden cherry trees, their leaves still brownish-red, showing no sign of turning green despite it being spring. Beyond a depression and uphill was a broad-leaved forest, its thick, dark leaves rustling in the howling mountain winds due to the cold.

He turned his gaze away. Beneath his feet lay what had once been a frozen wasteland, now covered only by a thin layer of snow. Scattered across the snow were black rocks of all sizes, some as tall as a person, others only the size of a fist. Everything was desolate and stark.

Clearly, apart from this lunatic and unlucky fellow, there shouldn't be any other human beings in this world ruled by nature. But that small figure was fixed on the rock in front of him, silently observing him, filled with curiosity about every detail of him, as if it wanted to see through his clothes, his flesh, and his bones.

"Human? Mountain spirit?" Liang Song squeezed out a sound from his throat, not even sure if the other party could hear him.

A black cat peeked out from behind the figure that resembled a mountain spirit and leaped onto the spirit's shoulder, instantly puffing up into a ball of fur in the wind. The mountain spirit seemed quite used to this closeness; he reached out and stroked the cat's head, sniffed, and called out again, "Uncle-Master."

Liang Song jumped onto the rock where the mountain spirit was crouching and brought his goggles as close as possible to the mountain spirit's face, trying to determine whether it was human.

The ground was paved with dark blue bricks, which were clearly kept very clean and shiny, reflecting the flickering firelight in the charcoal brazier. In front of Liang Song was a dark charcoal brazier, and around it were several wooden benches that were much older than Liang Song, their patina gleaming and shining in the firelight.

The mountain spirit didn't sit on the bench; instead, he squatted on the ground, hugging his knees, and poked at the fire in the charcoal brazier with a stick about 1.8 feet long. Several potatoes were roasting beside the brazier, and the sizzling sound of them was somewhat jarring in the silence.

Next to the charcoal brazier was an earthenware pot containing freshly stewed vegetable porridge. The mountain spirit served Liang Song a bowl, but the coarse grain residue had a strange, raw, fishy smell, which made Liang Song frown.

This is a dilapidated hall. The interior is spacious and deep, but the light is dim, and it is not even possible to see which deity is enshrined on the altar. Only the colorful skirts of the several tall statues are visible, while their faces are hidden in the darkness.

In front of the altar were two pillars as thick as a person's embrace, with a mottled couplet hanging on them. The firelight illuminated the lower half of the couplet, one side of which read "May the year bring blessings," and the other side read "May the essence of the sun be shared with the sun."

Judging from the sentence, it didn't seem to have anything to do with the Buddha Shakyamuni. Liang Song thought to himself that this might be a Taoist temple, but the temple gate was almost collapsed, only hastily supported by a few pieces of wood. The twilight was heavy, and there was no more information for him to make a more accurate judgment. Of course, he also knew that with his poor academic background, he couldn't really make any judgments.

Those things aren't important. What matters is that he was saved by this mountain spirit during a near-death experience. Thinking of this, Liang Song's heart was filled with gratitude. He straightened his features, trying his best to let the mountain spirit across from him feel his kindness and handsomeness. Yes, handsomeness is very important. He must be handsome every moment, every second; it's one of the reasons he lives.