A deserted tunnel… Zhang Yuanqing looked around with growing anxiety, suddenly transported to an unfamiliar environment—anyone would be thrown off balance. “Tunnel? Is this the She Ling Tunnel from the local folk tales?” As a native of Songhai City, he certainly knew about the top ten local legends, including the She Ling Tunnel. Since childhood, his grandmother had used these ghost stories to scare him when he refused to go to bed at night. Yet even if the legends were merely fanciful fables, Zhang Yuanqing himself had passed through the actual She Ling Tunnel just a few days ago during his return visit to his hometown to pay tribute to his father. How could the real She Ling Tunnel be so aged and worn down? “Ah yes—this is actually the Spirit Realm, not the authentic She Ling Tunnel.” The cramped surroundings made him feel uneasy. Zhang Yuanqing walked cautiously forward, his footsteps echoing in silence. As he went along, he pondered both his current situation and the information that had appeared in his mind. Undoubtedly, he had encountered a supernatural phenomenon—carried to this very tale—and now tasked with fulfilling an enigmatic mission issued by some unseen force. “The voice assigned me two tasks: survive for three hours; explore the Spirit Realm. The difficulty level is S-class, single death type… That last part is truly unsettling.” Surviving for three hours meant facing immense peril. Exploring the Spirit Realm—wasn’t that simply about exploring this tunnel? So clearly, the tunnel itself was dangerous. He tensed up internally and suddenly wondered: what rewards would come with completing the mission? After all, if it were a task, there should be some reward, right? “Hmm. According to the attribute panel just now, my occupation is Night Wandering Deity—but at level zero instead of one. So becoming a Night Wandering Deity must be one of the rewards—what exactly is that?” “Bing Brother was absolutely correct—the black card indeed changes lives. But I overlooked his second part: this thing is hard to manage… does it mean the danger level?” Zhang Yuanqing analyzed the information he already knew, silently. At that moment, the old xenon lamp beside him flickered slightly—its circuit apparently unstable—and for a few seconds, Zhang Yuanqing caught a shadow standing beneath it, wearing a miner’s hat. Oh my goodness—he leaped to his feet, startled; his thoughts momentarily scattered as he dashed forward like a deer frightened by sudden sound. Looking back, the lamp continued glowing steadily without further flickering. The figure in the miner’s hat seemed to have been nothing but an illusion. With this experience, Zhang Yuanqing now dared not linger any longer in this eerie place—he quickly hurried toward the tunnel entrance. Dashing footsteps echoed through the quiet tunnel as he moved forward at a steady pace for nearly five or six minutes. Then, the curved dome’s old xenon lamp flickered once more—but this time, no figure wearing a miner’s hat appeared beneath it. “Didn’t follow me?” Relieved, Zhang Yuanqing pressed on without pausing; lowering his head and walking briskly, suddenly he noticed something that made his heart stop. The orange light of the lamp stretched his shadow long across the ground—alongside this main shadow, there were a dozen others following closely. They’ve been following me? A chill surged from his feet to his head; goosebumps rose all over his body. His face grew pale as he began running in panicked bursts. Finally, ahead of him appeared the tunnel mouth, bathed in cold, frost-like moonlight. Zhang Yuanqing burst out of the tunnel, leaning on one knee and gasping for breath. After steadying himself, he surveyed the surrounding environment—the full moon hung like a polished disc above, serene and isolated, its radiance dwarfing all the stars. The dense forest was immersed in moonlight, casting thick, rich shadows under every tree. He now found himself deep in a remote mountainous area. The xenon lamps within the tunnel flickered several times before going completely dark—the vast tunnel mouth now lay pitch black and silent, as though it were the jaws of some creature waiting to devour its next victim. “Get out—quick!” Zhang Yuanqing’s scalp tingled; he began ascending the rugged mountain path. After walking a few steps, he glanced back and saw a row of figures standing at the tunnel entrance—each wearing an old miner’s hat, dressed in worn garments, their heads bowed downward. They stood in the shaded area where moonlight did not reach, silent and motionless—as though bidding him farewell. Zhang Yuanqing stepped backward in surprise and hurried up the mountain path. The trees on both sides were dense, filtering delicate beams of moonlight that allowed Zhang Yuanqing to see his way clearly. Yet the forest was unnaturally quiet—no birdsong or insect hums reached his ears—making his footsteps sound unusually loud. “Is it really so silent? In this season, a mountain setting shouldn’t be completely devoid of such sounds.” He scanned the surroundings—the full moon, the swaying tree canopies—he sensed something watching him from the darkness. How long had he walked? Eventually, when sweat began to trickle down his body, Zhang Yuanqing finally emerged beyond the dense forest, and the scene before him broadened dramatically. The moonlight flowed like water; everything around was still and tranquil—the rugged mountain path led to an abandoned ancient temple, standing quietly in darkness. This temple had clearly been abandoned for many years—its main door’s paint peeled and darkened with age, dotted with holes; the lanterns at its eaves hung on their bamboo frames now, only their skeletons remaining. The plaque above, though still there, was draped in cobwebs and tilted slightly from the roofline—the light too dim to read what it bore. The steps leading up to the door were cracked; wild grass grew through the fissures. How could there be a temple here—in such remote mountainous terrain—with no nearby villages or towns? Wait—temple?! Zhang Yuanqing suddenly realized, and in his mind, he heard again the voice from the Spirit Realm introduction: “Do not enter the temple—do not enter the temple…” According to that peculiar prompt, he should avoid entering. But since he has now exited the tunnel—he must now begin exploring this ancient, dilapidated temple instead. After hesitating for a long time at the temple entrance, Zhang Yuanqing took a cautious step forward and walked toward the dark temple standing before him, stepping over its broken threshold. Before him lay an open courtyard—tall wild grass reached nearly to his waist; a half-person-tall, decaying incense stove lay fallen into the grass, bearing witness to decades of wind and rain. A path paved with smooth stones extended across the yard—between the stone slabs, wild grass grew in clumps. His gaze followed the undulating grass toward the end of the path, where an ancient main hall stood, its foundation elevated high above ground, featuring six steps of terraces. A soft golden glow radiated from within the grille doors of this hall. “Light?” The surroundings were utterly silent and bleak—yet under the bright moonlight, that subtle glow did not bring warmth at all. In fact, it felt even more eerie. Crunch… crunch… As he walked forward through patches of yellowish dry grass with careful vigilance, his footsteps rang clearly in the open space. Then, suddenly, Zhang Yuanqing’s ears twitched—he heard a second set of footfalls behind him—something was following. He swiftly turned around. The night was still as water; the grass thick and lush—and nothing stood behind him. “Did I imagine that?” Zhang Yuanqing stopped briefly, trembling with nervousness, then resumed walking forward. Crunch… crunch… The footsteps returned again—this time he heard them clearly. Something was truly following him. Could it be this strange? Had something already come to haunt him right at the start of entering the temple? He didn’t dare turn around—he quickened his pace. And so, behind him, the footsteps matched his faster stride. Zhang Yuanqing could no longer hold back—goosebumps rose on his arms as he ran full speed, sprinting toward the main hall. The footfalls followed closely, like shadows clinging to his heels. As he approached and broke free of the grassy thicket, reaching the six-step terrace, he finally burst through the two grille doors with a loud “clunk” sound. At that moment, the footsteps vanished entirely. “Huff… huff…” Breathing heavily, Zhang Yuanqing now dared to turn around—the moonlight streamed across the courtyard, over the grass and stone pathways—so still and quiet it was almost intimidating. Yet nothing moved. “Thank goodness—it didn’t chase me in.” After calming down, he gently closed the main hall doors behind him—as if pushing out his fear. Then, he surveyed the interior of the temple hall—a high stone base held a statue of a goddess wearing a fur-lined robe and elegant garments. Her face was round and well-formed; her eyes long and slender—radiating kindness. One hand held a fan, gently waved, while the other appeared to be grasping something—but now it hung empty in front of her. On either side stood attendants: young boys with swords in their hands, and maids carrying books. At the base, there was an antique offering table covered with dust—candles were placed upon it; a single candle burned steadily at twenty centimeters long, just as thick as a baby’s arm, radiating gentle warmth. The candlelight dispelled the darkness—and somehow eased Zhang Yuanqing’s fear, calming his emotions significantly. On the left wall hung two weathered wooden boards, their characters faded and cracked—each inscribed with regular script. Zhang Yuanqing walked slowly to the wall, gazing at them under the dim candlelight. The style of the characters was classical Chinese prose—he had a decent command of language, so through half-guessing and half-reading, he now clearly understood his surroundings. This mountain is known as San Dao Mountain—its mountain deity is referred to as the San Dao Mountain Goddess. She hailed from a family in Songfu during the early Ming Dynasty, where she practiced at San Dao Mountain for decades, mastering the art of incantations and alchemical techniques—she could summon rain and drive away spirits, bringing prosperity and harmony to the surrounding region—therefore, she was revered by the local people as a divine presence. After her passing, the local government established this temple on San Dao Mountain, naming it “San Dao Mountain Goddess Temple,” and entrusted it to her disciples—the temple attendants who now maintained its rituals and services. “An early Ming Dynasty temple—this has been around for five or six hundred years now.” Zhang Yuanqing murmured. At that moment, he glanced down at the base of the offering table—and suddenly felt a sharp jolt in his mind. There stood a dark silhouette tucked beneath the shadows of the table. He had not noticed it earlier—due to being overwhelmed with anxiety and the dim candlelight. With steady breaths, Zhang Yuanqing approached closely—he looked carefully and found it was the remains of a skeleton. His initial shock eased slightly—the skeletal figure now seemed less frightening than the mysterious temple itself. Stepping closer, he examined the clothes on the skeleton—worn workwear covered in dust. A worker? “Was this the construction crew from back then? So I’ve truly entered into the world of these local folk tales.” Just as he made that inference, another more startling possibility came to mind: perhaps the construction crew had also ended up here—the same way he did—thus explaining how such a legend was created. If it were the first scenario—that is, if this Spirit Realm had been constructed based on the folk tales—then the setting would be derived from narrative tradition. But in the second scenario—where the ancient temple has always existed—the crew and Zhang Yuanqing alike became victims of whatever force now at work here. Given the historical background provided about the San Dao Mountain Temple, Zhang Yuanqing leaned more toward this latter explanation. “An entire construction team had died inside the temple—only one survivor. So people truly *do* die here… Now that I’ve entered this very temple, I am under constant threat of unknown dangers.” Ah! He drew a deep breath—he felt his body tense again, instinctively scanning around him. Then, he suddenly realized an even more haunting detail: This ancient temple dates back to the Ming Dynasty—how could candles still be burning? Who is responsible for replacing them in this hall? The more he thought about it—the more unnerving it became—even the graceful statue of the goddess now seemed to emanate a strange, eerie atmosphere. Though three figures made of clay were covered in dust, every detail was carved with astonishing realism—especially their eyes. They stood on the base, gazing down at Zhang Yuanqing from above, under the golden evening light—their presence both vivid and watchful.