(Time: Day One of the Journey)

  Leaving the bustling, familiar city behind was a process more ceremonial and lengthy than I had anticipated. First came the high-speed train, gliding smoothly across plains and hills, the scenery outside blurring past. Skyscrapers gradually gave way to farmland and low-lying villages. The carriage hummed with the breath of modern civilization – the gentle breeze of air conditioning, the hushed conversations of fellow passengers, the reflected glow of mobile phone screens. I leaned back in my seat, headphones on, pretending to listen to music while actually replaying the scant clues and blurry photos of Fengmen Village in my mind. The world around me remained orderly, yet I knew I was heading towards a different, forgotten corner. Each station passed felt like shedding another layer of connection to modern society.

  The train's terminus was a medium-sized prefecture-level city. Here, I needed to switch to a long-distance bus bound for a county town closer to the mountains. The bus station was a world apart from the train station. The air hung thick with the smell of instant noodles, sweat, and cheap tobacco, a cacophony of loud voices, the scrape of luggage wheels, and station announcements blaring in a local dialect. Clutching my enormous, out-of-place bright orange backpack, I squeezed through the crowd of returning locals laden with bags, their faces weathered by hardship, feeling like an alien.

  The long-distance bus crawled along winding national roads for nearly four hours. The landscape outside grew increasingly desolate. Flat farmland vanished, replaced by undulating, ochre-colored mountains. Houses along the road became sparse and dilapidated. Passengers dwindled, and by the time we reached the county town, only a handful remained besides myself.

  The county town was smaller and more backward than I'd imagined. Narrow streets were flanked mostly by low brick houses, interspersed with a few outdated three- or four-story buildings tiled in white ceramic. The air carried the scent of coal smoke and damp earth. I found lodging in a small roadside inn. The conditions were basic: a hard plank bed, a peeling desk, a chair, and suspicious stains on the walls. But it was the best I could find.

  According to my plan, I needed to find transport here willing to take me near the mountain pass leading to Fengmen Village. Early the next morning, carrying a lighter pack (my main backpack temporarily stored at the inn), I began making inquiries around town. It proved unexpectedly difficult.

  First, I tried the bus station, asking about routes deeper into the mountains. The middle-aged woman at the ticket counter eyed me up and down. Upon hearing I was heading towards Fengmen Village, she waved her hands frantically as if she'd seen a ghost. "No, no! That place is cursed! Nobody's gone there for years, the road's long overgrown! No buses go there!"

  Next, I tried taxis. But the drivers reacted almost identically upon hearing the words "Fengmen Village". They either refused outright or quoted exorbitant, near-extortionate prices, all making it clear they would only go as far as the last inhabited hamlet, still miles from the pass. Any further, no amount of money would persuade them. Their eyes held not just a desire for money, but a deep-seated fear and taboo.

  "Miss, a young woman like you, what are you going to a place like that for?" one seemingly kind-faced taxi driver couldn't help but advise. "That place isn't clean, really! Years ago, some college kids who didn't believe the stories went exploring. And what happened? They vanished! Not even their bodies were found! Listen to me, go back!"

  After repeated setbacks, despair began to set in. Was my journey to Fengmen Village going to end prematurely, miles from my destination? As I stood bewildered on the dusty roadside, a dilapidated three-wheeled motorcycle sputtered to a halt before me.

  The driver was a man in his fifties, skinny, with dark, leathery skin and deep wrinkles etched onto his face, though his eyes were sharp. He wore a grease-stained blue work jacket. A cheap cigarette dangled from his lips as he squinted, assessing me and the expensive-looking backpack at my feet.

  "Missy, where you headed? Judging by your gear, you here for sightseeing?" he asked in a thick local accent, exhaling a puff of smoke.

  I hesitated, realizing I couldn't directly mention Fengmen Village again. "Master," I began, "I want to see the scenery around Xiaoyao River Reservoir. I heard the mountain air is good." Xiaoyao River Reservoir was marked on the map, relatively close to the Fengmen Village area, but still separated by several mountains.

  The man's eyes flickered, as if understanding something unspoken. He grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "Heh, the reservoir? That's quite a ways. But my 'little donkey' here is great on mountain roads! One hundred yuan, I'll take you to the foot of the reservoir dam, how about it?"

  One hundred yuan was still daylight robbery for that distance. But I knew this might be my only chance. I nodded. "Okay. But Master, could you take me a bit further in? I want to take some photos deeper in the mountains."

  The man's smile froze for a second, then returned to its oily smoothness. "Missy, it's not that I don't want to help. Further in, the road isn't really a road anymore, just pits and bumps. My bike can't handle it. Besides... those mountains... they're spooky. Got to be out before dark. The absolute furthest I can take you is the fork leading to the reservoir, still about seven or eight li from the water. You'll have to walk the rest." He pointed to a tiny, almost negligible place name on the map. "Just to 'Wild Boar Ridge'. Any further, you could kill me, and I still wouldn't go!"

  Wild Boar Ridge... I quickly scanned my mental map. That location was roughly ten kilometers of mountain trails from the estimated entrance to Fengmen Village. Still far, but much better than dozens of kilometers.

  "Alright! To Wild Boar Ridge!" I agreed, gritting my teeth.

  After settling the price, I fetched my heavy backpack from the inn and wrestled it onto the narrow cargo bed of the three-wheeler. The man kicked the engine to life. With a violent shudder and a plume of thick black smoke, the "little donkey" carried me away from the dusty county town, heading into the depths of the mountains.

  The Final Leg:

  Leaving the town, the paved road quickly deteriorated into a potholed cement track, and then devolved entirely into a bumpy dirt-and-stone path. Riding the three-wheeler on such terrain felt like being tossed about in a boat on stormy seas; I had to grip the railing tightly just to keep my balance. The deafening engine noise and violent vibrations made thinking almost impossible.

  The scenery became increasingly wild and primitive. Farmland disappeared completely, replaced by dense thickets, bizarre rock formations, and endless ranges of green mountains stretching as far as the eye could see. The terrain grew steeper, the road winding along cliff edges overlooking deep, bottomless valleys, where occasional streams glittered like silver threads in the sunlight. The air turned remarkably fresh, carrying the damp scent of vegetation and earth, yet tinged with a chill that spoke of remoteness.

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  The driver seemed to have grown quiet, shedding his earlier glibness. He focused intently on steering, occasionally casting wary glances into the dense woods lining the road or up at the sky.

  "Master, do you drive this route often?" I shouted over the wind and engine roar, my voice strained.

  He seemed not to hear, turning his head. "What?"

  "I asked, do you come here often?" I repeated.

  "Used to, more often. Hauling mountain goods out to sell," he answered vaguely. "Now... less often. It's not peaceful in these mountains."

  "Not peaceful? You mean wild animals?" I pressed, though my mind leaped to other possibilities.

  The man fell silent for a moment, seemingly choosing his words carefully. After a while, he lowered his voice as if afraid of being overheard. "Wild animals? Hmph, they're nothing! In these mountains... there are sinister things! Especially further in, near that... that deserted village..." He mentioned "that village" obliquely, avoiding the name "Fengmen Village," as if the words themselves held some forbidden power.

  "Sinister things? Like what?" My heartbeat quickened involuntarily.

  "Hard to say..." He shook his head, a flicker of fear crossing his face. "When I was young and bold, I went in once with some others... Just once! Almost didn't make it out! Inside... it's not right! The weather changes in an instant. Broad daylight, and suddenly it turns dark! And... strange noises... like babies crying, or old women laughing... Makes your skin crawl! The elders in my village say it's the 'unclean things' in the mountains making trouble. If you disturb them, you won't leave in one piece!"

  He paused, then added, "Some say the village itself is the problem. Heard from the old folks that village, long ago... seemed to have angered something it shouldn't have, got cursed, that's why everyone fled... Anyway, that place, you can't go! Really, you can't!"

  Though fragmented and steeped in superstition, the fear in the man's words was palpable. It cast a heavy shadow over my already apprehensive mood. I didn't ask further, just silently watched the increasingly somber scenery rush past.

  After another hour or so, the man slammed on the brakes at a three-way junction. The spot was slightly elevated, offering a distant view of a patch of turquoise water nestled among the peaks – likely the Xiaoyao River Reservoir. But the road leading to it looked wide and flat compared to the other path, which plunged deeper into the mountains and was almost entirely swallowed by weeds.

  "Here we are! Wild Boar Ridge!" The man cut the engine, pointing firmly at the barely discernible trail. "Missy, this is as far as I go! Not a step further, no matter what! You... take care of yourself!" His eyes held a mixture of pity and perhaps relief – relief that he didn't have to venture any closer.

  Entering on Foot:

  I paid the fare. The man didn't even bother counting the money carefully before hastily turning the motorcycle around and speeding back the way we came, sputtering away as if fleeing a predator. Soon, the battered three-wheeler vanished around a bend, its engine noise fading until it was swallowed by the wind and the silence of the valley.

  Suddenly, I was utterly alone in the world.

  I stood at the desolate junction, the heavy, bright orange backpack feeling like an anchor, making me feel like a castaway on a deserted island. Endless green mountains surrounded me, under a vast, slightly overcast sky. Occasional, unidentifiable bird calls echoed from the distant forest, amplifying the emptiness and silence. The air was cool and damp with the scent of vegetation, but breathing deeply revealed a faint, underlying smell, like decaying matter.

  The path towards Fengmen Village was less a road and more a trace forced through dense thickets and waist-high weeds. It was narrow, littered with loose stones and exposed roots, flanked by towering grasses whose leaves intertwined, obscuring the way. A mountain breeze rustled the vegetation, creating a whispering sound, like a low warning to the intruder.

  I checked my GPS. The signal was weak. The small red dot on the screen showed I was still about eight kilometers in a straight line from the estimated location of Fengmen Village. Eight kilometers of mountain trail didn't sound like much, but looking at the path nearly reclaimed by nature, I knew it would be arduous.

  There was no turning back. Taking a deep breath, I tightened my grip on my trekking pole, adjusted the backpack straps, and resolutely stepped onto the path leading into the unknown.

  The Threshold:

  One step in, and the feeling changed instantly.

  It was like passing through an invisible curtain woven from foliage and silence. The junction and the relatively open view behind me vanished, swallowed by dense, almost lightless green. Tall trees and low bushes layered upon each other, their branches interlacing, blocking out the sky. Only scattered, fragmented patches of light struggled to reach the moss-covered ground. The light dimmed abruptly, as if dusk had leaped straight into evening.

  The air grew colder, damper, heavier, thick with the intensified smell of decaying leaves and wet earth, now laced with an indescribable, faint metallic tang, like the aftermath of animal decay.

  The most striking change was the sound. The bird calls and wind rustling, audible just moments before at the junction, ceased almost completely. An unnerving silence descended, broken only by my own ragged breathing, the rhythmic thud of my trekking pole on the dirt, and the rustle of dry leaves or grass underfoot. This profound quiet wasn't peaceful; it felt like a vast, formless sponge absorbing all life, creating an oppressive, near-vacuum atmosphere that quickened the pulse.

  I felt as if I had stepped into a corner of the world forgotten by time, an alternate space where time flowed slower, or perhaps had stopped altogether. All traces of modern civilization were utterly sealed off, leaving only the rawest, wildest nature, and... something else, a disquieting presence lurking within the silence.

  I instinctively tightened my grip on the camera hanging around my neck and switched on the audio recorder. Though there was almost nothing to hear but my own progress, I felt compelled to document this eerie stillness.

  The path was intermittent and extremely difficult. In many places, it was completely overgrown with rampant vines and waist-deep grass, forcing me to hack through with my pole or squeeze sideways through thorny bushes. Exposed roots snaked across the ground like vipers, nearly tripping me several times. The earth beneath was slick and soft, threatening to swallow my boots. Sweat quickly soaked my base layer, the heavy pack felt like a mountain on my back, and my breathing grew increasingly labored.

  I lost track of how long I walked – an hour? Two? In this realm dominated by green and silence, the sense of time itself became blurred. The GPS signal flickered in and out; I relied on my unreliable compass and hazy memory of the map to maintain a general bearing towards Fengmen Village.

  The trees grew taller, older, their trunks coated in deep green moss and parasitic vines, their branches gnarled like skeletal arms reaching out. The light beneath the canopy grew dimmer, resembling twilight even at midday. The scent of decay intensified.

  Just as I scrambled up a steep, scree-covered slope, utterly exhausted, using both hands and feet, the view ahead cleared slightly.

  I stood on a relatively flat hillside where the trees thinned somewhat. Through the gaps in the foliage, I could vaguely discern low, dark shapes nestled in the mountain hollow below, veiled in thick mist and deeper greenery.

  Was... was that Fengmen Village?

  As I focused, trying to see more clearly, an indescribable, formless pressure suddenly descended. It was a peculiar sensation, not physical weight, but more like... an aura, a cold, heavy will pervading the air. It felt as if I had just crossed an unseen boundary, intruding upon inviolable territory.

  The surrounding silence seemed to deepen, growing more malevolent. The wind died completely. Even the faintest rustle of leaves ceased. I could hear my own heart pounding against my ribs. A bone-chilling sensation washed over me like a cold tide.

  I instinctively took a step back, my palm clammy against the trekking pole.

  Was this the entrance to Fengmen Village? Or had I already... stepped into its forbidden zone?