Autumn had descended upon Sunset Glow Mountain, stripping the landscape of its vitality and leaving behind a desolate, skeletal beauty. A wide official road wound like a gray scar past the mountain’s foothills, quiet under the fading light.

As the sun dipped below the western ridges, casting the world into twilight, a merchant caravan crested the horizon.

“Pick up the pace! The light is failing!” a voice bellowed. “We must reach Sunset Glow Post before true dark takes us!”

The horses snorted, their flanks heaving as they strained against the harness. Carriage wheels groaned in rhythmic protest—creak, clack, creak, clack. The mounted guards spurred their beasts into a gallop, led by a burly, bearded man clad in iron-ringed armor. His eyes darted nervously toward the silhouette of the mountain looming some dozen li to the south.

“Brother-in-law, why are you so tense?” A younger man rode up beside him. He had delicate, scholarly features that seemed ill-suited for the leather armor he wore and the longsword slapping against his hip.

The bearded man shot him a glare. “Have you never heard the stories of the Sunset Glow Temple?”

The young man’s expression faltered. He followed the older man’s gaze toward the imposing peak, now wreathed in shadows. “Brother-in-law… is that the legendary Sunset Glow Mountain?”

Curiosity, bright and dangerous, kindled in the youth’s eyes. The legends of this place were as numerous as the stars. It was said that merchants who climbed its paths returned as kings of commerce, while scholars descended as gibbering madmen. Everyone who walked out of those woods alive became a legend in their own right.

The bearded man reached over and slapped the youth’s shoulder, hard. “Don’t you go getting any foolish ideas. That mountain is sinister. The only wise path is the one that leads away from it.”

The young man rubbed his shoulder and chuckled, though his eyes lingered on the peak. “Relax, Brother-in-law! I’m not stupid.”

The clatter of hooves and wheels faded quickly, swallowed by the winding road. As the last of the sun’s warmth evaporated, the caravan disappeared into the gathering gloom.

Night fell with the weight of a heavy blanket. A full moon climbed silently into the sky, its pale, ghostly light doing little to dispel the oppressive darkness that pooled beneath the ancient trees.

Sunset Glow Mountain was wrapped in a deathly stillness. Occasionally, a cold breeze would sweep through the canopy, causing the leaves to rustle—a sound like a thousand dry whispers debating the fate of intruders.

At the mountain’s base, shadows detached themselves from the treeline. Five figures crept up a narrow, overgrown path.

“I… I feel a chill,” one voice whispered, trembling. “Maybe we should go back?”

The forest was unnaturally quiet. Their footsteps sounded like thunderclaps against the stone path.

“What are you afraid of?” another voice hissed, filled with bravado. “The temple is just up ahead. We take a look, satisfy our curiosity, and head back. Simple.”

“But… what if the rumors are true? What if there are ghosts?”

“Ghosts? We are five grown men with steel at our hips. If there are ghosts, they should be the ones running!”

“Hah! Exactly! Brother-in-law worries too much.”

Their laughter rang hollow, quickly devoured by the silent woods.

“Come on, move it,” the leader urged. “If we get back late and the caravan master finds out, we’re done for.”

They quickened their pace, scrambling up the trail with renewed urgency.

Three hours passed.

The five men collapsed onto the dirt path, gasping for air, their chests heaving. Sweat soaked their clothes, chilling rapidly in the night air.

“This… this doesn’t make sense,” one of them wheezed. “The mountain didn’t look this tall from the bottom.”

They had been marching for hours, yet the path stretched on endlessly into the gloom. The trees looked identical to the ones they had passed miles ago. They had not seen a single glimpse of the temple’s distinctive curved roof.

“We should turn back,” a timid voice suggested from the rear. “It’s too late.”

“No! It has to be close!” the leader snapped, though his voice lacked its earlier conviction. “I want to see how big this cursed mountain really is. Let’s go.”

They forced themselves up and trudged onward.

Another hour bled away.

“Back… let’s go back.”

“I can’t take another step. Let’s rest.”

They slumped onto a weathered stone platform beside the trail. As they looked around, a cold realization began to dawn on them. Despite hours of climbing at a brisk pace, the vegetation around them was still that of the foothills. They hadn’t even left the base of the mountain.

“Did we… did we hit a Ghost Wall?” one man stammered, his face draining of blood.

The legendary Gui Da Qiang—spirits confusing the traveler’s sense of direction, trapping them in an endless loop.

Terror, cold and sharp, pierced their exhaustion. They scrambled to their feet, the desire for adventure replaced by a primal need to escape.

“Don’t talk nonsense!” the leader shouted, though his eyes darted wildly. “We’re leaving. Now!”

They spun around and practically ran back down the path. But they had barely covered a hundred meters when the leader skidded to a halt.

“Shh! Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“It sounds like… women laughing.”

The group froze. Straining their ears against the silence, they heard it—the faint, melodious sound of feminine giggling drifting from the deep woods off the path.

“There are people over there!”

“Thank the heavens! Maybe they know the way out!”

“Let’s go!”

Abandoning the path, they plunged into the undergrowth, drawn by the sound like moths to a flame. As they pushed through a thicket of ferns, the trees suddenly parted.

A hidden lake lay before them, its surface smooth as obsidian, shimmering under the moonlight.

The five men stood transfixed at the water’s edge.

In the center of the lake, bathed in silvery light, a group of young women frolicked in the water. Their skin was pale as porcelain, gleaming wetly as they dipped and spun. Translucent silk clung to their curves, revealing more than it hid.

“So… so beautiful…”

The fear of the Ghost Wall evaporated, replaced by a heat that coiled in their bellies. Their eyes glazed over, pupils dilating as they watched the women play.

The bathers seemed to notice the intruders. Instead of screaming or covering themselves, they turned with fluid grace, smiling invitingly. One of them raised a slender, dripping arm and beckoned.

The gesture was imbued with a charm that bypassed logic and struck directly at the men’s basest instincts.

“My beauties… I’m coming!”

One by one, the men tore at their clothes, discarding armor and tunics in a frenzy. They splashed into the lake, the icy water doing nothing to quench the unnatural fire in their blood.

“Come here, darling…”

The women didn’t flee. They giggled, a sound like water rushing over stones, and swam to meet the men.

The surface of the lake churned. The men reached out, grabbing hold of slender waists and wet skin.

“You’re gorgeous,” one man murmured, burying his face in a woman’s neck. He expected the warmth of flesh, but her skin was as cold as the grave. He didn’t care.

“You smell so sweet,” another groaned.

The women smiled, their eyes curving into crescents that held no mirth, only hunger. They embraced the men, their delicate fingers locking like iron clamps on the men’s shoulders.

Then, the smiles vanished.

With a sudden, violent motion, the women shoved the men backward.

“Wait! Don’t go!” The men, blinded by lust, dove after them.

The women sank beneath the surface, and the men followed.

Splash.

The water roiled. For a moment, it was a playful chase. Then, the thrashing turned frantic.

A head broke the surface—a man’s face twisted in absolute horror, the illusion shattered.

“Help! H—!”

Something beneath the water seized his ankle with crushing force. He was yanked down mid-scream.

Bubbles erupted to the surface, followed by a dark stain that might have been mud, or might have been blood. The lake churned violently for a few breaths, then settled.

Silence returned. The water smoothed over, reflecting the moon as if nothing had happened.

Whoosh!

streaks of sword-light tore through the sky, descending rapidly from the clouds. Six figures stood atop flying swords, coming to a halt above the lake.

Qian Wen stood on his blade, his robes fluttering in the night wind. He looked down at the tranquil water, his expression grim.

“Senior Martial Uncle Sun,” Qian Wen said, his voice tight. “We’re too late.”

They had rushed here the moment the screaming started, but the lake had already swallowed its prey.