Chapter 0: Prologue
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
To the south of Cloud Ridge, where the Yunnan-Guizhou Plateau meets the Hengduan Mountain Range, a majestic boundary unfolds. Formed by the crustal movements of the Cretaceous period, these mountains rise with folds and ridges, reaching an average altitude of over two thousand meters.
This rugged terrain, cloaked in thick fog, harbors vast swaths of primeval forest, untouched by human presence. The air within the woods is laden with moisture, veiling the sunlight beneath dense canopies. Only the dim green of the vegetation and the profound stillness of the damp forest remain.
Emerging from the heart of this wilderness, a university student leaned heavily on an alloy trekking pole, trudging through layers of decaying leaves. His steps were unsteady, and he paused on a small, level clearing, his face pale and drawn.
Last month, on the third, a scandal erupted in Linchuan City when it was revealed that substandard renovation materials at the local orphanage had caused multiple cases of leukemia among the children. To raise funds for the afflicted orphans, a local adventurers’ club organized a live-streamed expedition through an uncharted region.
The timing coincided with the university’s summer break, and the student eagerly signed up for the cause. Initially, the journey was smooth—the club boasted seasoned explorers, well-equipped and buoyant with camaraderie. Yet, as they delved deeper, an uncanny mountain mist descended upon them, scattering the group.
Before embarking, they had meticulously planned survival routes and fallback paths, distributing maps to each participant. The protocol was simple: stay put and wait for the mist to clear if separated. But when the fog lifted, the student’s compass spun wildly, akin to Doraemon’s malfunctioning bamboo-copter, and his satellite phone had inexplicably died. Lost, he found himself surrounded by a monotonous expanse of moss-covered ground and tree trunks, their uniform green oppressive and disorienting. The relentless mist and lack of sunlight created a setting where despair could easily take root.
“Time to throw a shoe,” he muttered, tossing his trekking pole into the air.
‘Shoe-throwing’ is a quirky survival trick used by adventurers to gauge direction, though what gets thrown need not be a shoe. The principle is less about science and more a reflection of desperation in the face of disorientation.
The thick mist thickened again, dampness penetrating even his weatherproof jacket, draining what little body heat he had left. To make matters worse, the haze began to take on a sinister, blood-red hue as he pressed forward.
Ignoring this eerie transformation, the student trudged down a slippery slope, parting hanging vines and stepping onto a stone path that had no business existing in such an isolated forest. There, he stumbled upon a stone lamp bearing a flickering blue flame, seemingly eternal.
“I knew I shouldn’t have eaten those colorful mushrooms,” he muttered, his lips twitching in disbelief. “Now I’ve ended up in Hyrule.”
Lost for two days, his supplies nearly depleted, the student had turned to the abundant mushrooms in the forest, brewing a makeshift soup on his portable stove. Convinced he was hallucinating, he nevertheless followed the stone path, hoping it might lead to safety.
Through layers of tangled vines and ancient trees, he ventured deeper. Unexpectedly, the stone path widened into a broad, meticulously paved expanse, though it was treacherously slick with moss.
The clearing was not empty. Scattered ruins of broken arches, tile roofs, and stone platforms hinted at a bygone civilization, their surfaces overrun with moss and decay. The scene resembled the eerie ruins of a monastery from old ghost tales.
Towering above the ruins were two colossal statues.
One figure wore strange attire—neither robes nor garments of recognizable design. Seated with its head bowed, it stared expressionlessly at the ground. At 1.83 meters tall, the student could barely reach its feet, feeling dwarfed like an ant beneath its immense presence. Unlike the surrounding ruins, no moss or fallen leaves clung to its form; they seemed to avoid the statue entirely.
The other statue was even more peculiar. Not human, it vaguely resembled a humanoid shape. Standing upright, it loomed like an ancient tree, its mouth full of jagged teeth, eyes rolled upward as if caught between laughter and anguish. Its emaciated form was unnervingly grotesque, with eight twisted fingers locked in an agonized gesture.
The two statues faced each other, locked in opposition, as though they had just fought, their postures hinting at a decisive outcome. By human standards, if beauty equated to good and ugliness to evil, then evil had triumphed over good.
A chill ran through the student as he surveyed the statues. He tightened his jacket and moved past them, hoping to find a dry spot to pitch his tent.
As he quickened his pace, his foot dislodged something that skittered away. Bending to retrieve it, he discovered a tattered, ancient book. Its physical weight reassured him that it wasn’t a hallucination. Shivers crawled up his spine as he realized the improbability of such an object surviving the forest’s damp conditions for so long.
Fear, he realized, often stems from encountering the inexplicable. And in the depths of this untouched wilderness, he felt profoundly out of place.
Before his hesitation could take root, he noticed a narrow crevice in the mountain wall ahead, just wide enough for a person to squeeze through. Beyond it, to his astonishment, lay vast farmland.
“I’ve made it out?”
A surge of relief coursed through him. “Told you, shoe-throwing is the pinnacle of technology!” He tucked the book into his jacket and scrambled through the crevice.
Fields stretched before him, where people worked the soil. For the first time in days, he felt hope.
As he approached, eager to borrow a phone and call for help, he noticed the farmers’ gaunt faces and hunched postures. They wore rough hemp garments, loose trousers, and cloth headscarves. Their appearance was decidedly anachronistic.
Noticing him, the farmers stopped their work, surprise etched on their faces. Speaking in an unfamiliar dialect, they rushed toward him, one of them even seeming delighted.
Before the student could react, a wave of dizziness overtook him, and he collapsed onto the furrows.
“Ancient people…”
“How can someone get this lost?” he murmured before blacking out.
From his fallen arm, his walkie-talkie crackled with static, and an unfamiliar voice spoke words in a language he couldn’t comprehend.