An abandoned tunnel...
Zhang Yuanqing looked around anxiously. Anyone suddenly brought into an unfamiliar place would feel flustered and lost.
"A tunnel? Could this be the Sheling Tunnel from the urban legends?"
Born and raised in Songhai City, he naturally knew about the ten most famous ghost stories, including the Sheling Tunnel. When he was a kid, whenever he was mischievous at night and refused to sleep, his grandmother would scare him with tales about it.
But putting aside that these stories were just vague legends, even the real Sheling Tunnel wasn't like this — so old and dilapidated.
"Right, this must be a spirit realm, not the real Sheling Tunnel."
The cramped environment unsettled him. Zhang Yuanqing cautiously moved forward, the only sound his lonely footsteps echoing.
As he walked, he pondered his situation and the message from the mysterious voice in his head.
No doubt about it, he had encountered a supernatural phenomenon and was pulled into the world of a ghost story — where he had to complete a mission assigned by some mysterious power.
"That voice gave me two tasks: survive for three hours, and explore the spirit realm. Difficulty level S, solo death type... That death type terrifies me."
Surviving three hours meant facing great danger.
Exploring the spirit realm — likely this tunnel — suggested the tunnel was extremely dangerous.
He quietly tensed up, and a question flashed in his mind: what would the reward be for completing the mission?
Since it's a task, there must be some reward.
"Well, according to the status panel just now, my class is Night Wanderer, but I'm level 0, not level 1. Becoming a Night Wanderer should be one of the rewards. But what exactly is a Night Wanderer?"
"Brother Bing was right, this black card can change my life. But I ignored his latter warning — it's hard to control. Does that mean the danger level?"
Zhang Yuanqing analyzed the info silently.
At that moment, the old xenon lamp by his side flickered, the circuitry unstable. In the flashing light and shadows, he vaguely saw a figure wearing a miner's helmet standing beneath the lamp.
Damn... He jumped in fright, his thoughts instantly broken, and like a startled deer, he darted forward several steps.
Looking back, the lamp continued to shine steadily, no longer flickering.
The miner-helmeted figure seemed to have been an illusion.
After that scare, Zhang Yuanqing didn't dare stay in that eerie place. He hurriedly walked toward the tunnel exit.
Clack clack clack — footsteps echoed in the quiet tunnel. Zhang dared not pause, sprinting on for five or six minutes. The curved dome of old xenon lamps flickered again, but this time, no miner-helmeted figure appeared.
"No one's following?"
He felt a bit relieved but still didn't stop, keeping his head down and walking briskly.
Suddenly, his eyes caught a detail that made his heart nearly stop.
The orange xenon light stretched his shadow long across the ground, but beside his shadow, there were a dozen others trailing behind.
They've been following me?!
A chill ran from his feet to his head, raising goosebumps all over. Zhang's face turned pale as he burst into a frantic run.
Finally, the tunnel mouth appeared ahead. Outside, the moonlight was cold and frost-like.
Zhang Yuanqing rushed out in one breath, clutching his knees as he bent over to catch his breath.
Once steady, he looked around: a full moon hung like a silver disc, lonely in the night sky. Under its glow, the stars seemed dim and insignificant.
Lush woods bathed in moonlight cast dense shadows.
He was in a wild, deserted mountain area.
The xenon lamps inside flickered a few more times before going completely dark. The vast tunnel mouth was pitch black and silent — like the jaws of a beast ready to devour.
"Get away from here…"
His scalp tingled. Zhang climbed the rugged mountain path.
After a few steps, he glanced back and saw a row of figures standing at the tunnel entrance — heads bowed, wearing miner helmets and ragged clothes.
They stood in the shadows where the moonlight didn't reach, silent, as if seeing him off.
Zhang recoiled in fear, stepping back a few steps, then twisted around and sprinted up the mountain.
On both sides of the path, thick foliage scattered tiny patches of moonlight, enough for Zhang to see the trail clearly.
But the silence was terrifying. No insects or birds chirped — making Zhang's footsteps sound deafeningly loud.
"So quiet... no bugs chirping at this time of year in the mountains."
He looked around. The moon was full, shadows swayed with the trees, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something in the darkness was watching him.
After what felt like forever, sweat broke out on his body. Zhang finally emerged from the dense forest, and the view opened wide.
Moonlight poured like water, the surroundings deathly still.
At the end of the rugged mountain trail stood an abandoned ancient temple.
Silent, standing in the darkness.
No one knew how long it had been deserted. The paint on the big gate in front of the temple was peeling black with holes eaten through.
Lanterns hanging from the eaves had fallen to the ground, leaving only bamboo frames.
The plaque above the door still hung, crooked and covered in cobwebs, but it was too dark to read the inscription.
The cracked steps before the temple were overgrown with weeds.
Out here in the wild, with no village or store nearby — why was there a temple?
Wait... a temple?!
Suddenly, Zhang's mind echoed the voice from the spirit realm briefing:
"Don't enter the temple, don't enter the temple..."
According to that weird voice's hint, he shouldn't go in.
No — he had already come out of the tunnel, so his real task must be to explore this crumbling ancient temple.
He hesitated at the temple gate for a long moment, then cautiously stepped forward, crossing the broken threshold.
Inside was a vast courtyard, waist-high wild grass growing thickly.
A rotting, half-sized incense burner lay toppled in the weeds, weathered by years of wind and rain.
Underfoot, a path paved with bluestone slabs stretched ahead, weeds sprouting from the cracks.
Following the uneven wild grass, his gaze landed at the end of the path, where a dilapidated main hall sat on a high foundation, its stairs numbering six.
A dim yellow light seeped through the lattice doors.
"There's a light?"
All around was silence, desolation, and decay.
The moonlight was clear and bright, yet that faint glow brought Zhang no warmth.
If anything, it made the scene even more terrifying.
Rustle...
Stepping on patches of dry yellow grass, Zhang moved forward warily toward the main hall.
In the empty courtyard, every step sounded unnervingly loud.
Rustle, rustle... Suddenly, his ear twitched — he heard footsteps behind him. Something was following.
He whipped his head around.
Night was like flowing water, the wild grass thick.
Nothing was there.
"Hallucination?"
He stopped, heart pounding, then pressed onward.
Rustle, rustle, rustle...
The footsteps returned, clearer this time. Something was definitely behind him.
No way could this be real — facing danger right after entering the temple?
He didn't dare look back and quickened his pace.
The footsteps sped up in sync.
Zhang couldn't hold it any longer. Goosebumps crawling, he bolted for the main hall.
The footsteps followed closely.
He burst through the grass and reached the main hall, leapt up six steps in two strides, and with a loud clang, shoved open the lattice doors.
The footsteps abruptly stopped.
Huff, huff...
Panting, Zhang finally dared to look back.
Moonlight spilled across the courtyard, grass, and stone path — silent, still, and empty.
"Luckily, it didn't follow."
He caught his breath and gently closed the main hall doors, as if locking the fear outside.
Then he scanned the interior.
On a tall stone pedestal stood a statue of a goddess clad in a fur cloak and elegant robes.
Her face was round and soft, eyes long and delicate, radiating kindness.
One hand held a fly-whisk; the other was clenched as if grasping something — but now it was empty.
On either side stood a sword-bearing boy and a maid holding a book.
In front of the pedestal was a dusty offering table.
On it, a candle, twenty centimeters long and as thick as a baby's forearm, burned silently.
The candlelight pushed back the darkness and seemed to calm Zhang's fear.
On the left wall hung two faded, cracked wooden plaques, carved with neat regular script.
Zhang walked over and studied them by candlelight.
The text was classical Chinese.
His language skills were decent, so by guessing and piecing together, he got a clearer picture of where he was.
This mountain was called Sandao Mountain.
The goddess worshipped here was the Sandao Mountain Lady.
She was a Song Dynasty figure from the Song family, who had practiced on Sandao Mountain.
She mastered talismanic magic and alchemy, could pray for rain and exorcise demons, and protected the local people's harvests.
After her ascension, the local government built this temple and named it after her, managed by her disciples acting as temple keepers.
"A Ming Dynasty temple... must be five or six hundred years old by now," Zhang muttered.
Then his eyes swept down to the offering table's shadowy underside, and his heart jolted cold.
A dark figure lay beneath the table.
In his earlier panic and with the dim candlelight, he hadn't noticed.
Zhang braced himself and leaned closer.
It was a skeleton.
The skeleton was dressed in dusty work clothes.
A worker?
"Is this the construction crew from back then? So I really am in the world of the urban legend."
Zhang guessed, then thought of a more terrifying possibility: maybe the crew got trapped here like him.
That's why the urban legend exists.
If so, this spirit realm was formed based on the legend.
But if the latter's true, then this temple really exists, and the construction crew, like him, were victims.
Based on the temple's history, Zhang favored the latter theory.
"A whole construction crew died here, only one survived. This place really kills people... Now that I've entered, I'm facing unknown danger anytime."
He gasped, tension tightening again, instinctively looking around.
Then he realized a truly chilling detail.
This temple was from the Ming Dynasty, long gone.
How was the candle still burning?
Who was replacing the candle?
The more he thought about it, the more eerie it became.
Even the kindly-looking statue seemed sinister in the flickering candlelight.
Though covered in dust, the three clay statues were vivid and lifelike, every detail carved with haunting accuracy — especially their eyes.
They stood on the pedestal, gazing down at Zhang Yuanqing in the dim candlelight.