(Time: Afternoon, Day One)

  That intangible, cold, heavy pressure hung like a physical wall between me and the village silhouette veiled in the hollow's mist. My steps halted instinctively; I even retreated half a pace. The tip of my trekking pole sank deep into the damp, soft earth, bracing my slightly trembling body. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a heavy drumroll vibrating in my ears. The surrounding silence reached its peak, as if the very air had congealed, thick and suffocating.

  Was this Fengmen Village's "welcome ceremony"? A purely psychic repulsion, a malevolent warning emanating from the land itself?

  I stood before the invisible boundary, facing the silent, ominous village across the distance. Seconds? Minutes? Time seemed meaningless here. My mind was blank; all previous plans, contingencies, even the carefully prepared equipment felt utterly inadequate. Only the primal urge to turn and flee screamed through my veins.

  But I couldn't retreat.

  To be scared away now would render all my prior effort, all my resolve, a joke. I took a deep breath. The damp, cold air irritated my throat but also cleared my somewhat chaotic thoughts, tangled with excitement and fear. I am Li Xue, a journalist. I came to find the truth, not to succumb to fear – even though fear coiled around every nerve like a viper.

  "It's nothing to be afraid of, just psychological... just the oppressive atmosphere of the environment," I muttered to the empty woods, my voice barely audible, trying to convince myself, perhaps performing some kind of self-hypnosis. I forced myself to look up again towards the hollow.

  The mist seemed thicker now, a flowing grey veil that rendered the village outline even more blurred, more eerie. The dark grey rooflines flickered in and out of view, like rows of silent, weathered tombstones.

  No more hesitation. Gritting my teeth, tightening my grip on the pole, I forced myself to take that step, crossing the invisible threshold.

  Strangely, as my foot landed within that zone, the suffocating pressure didn't vanish, nor did it intensify. It was like a thin film, an "aura," enveloping the entire village. I felt like I'd stepped inside a huge, soundproof glass dome, cut off from the outside world, leaving only the accumulated silence and decay of unknown years within.

  Cautiously, step by step, I began descending towards the hollow. The slope wasn't excessively steep, but the path underfoot grew more treacherous. Loose stones mixed with fallen leaves made it extremely slippery. I had to focus intently on my footing, probing each step with the trekking pole to maintain balance.

  As I drew closer, the state of Fengmen Village came into sharper focus – a shocking, heart-tightening ruin.

  The first thing I saw was the village entrance. It looked like there might have once been an archway or gatehouse, but now only a few slanted stone pillars remained, half-buried in the earth, covered in moss and weathered cracks, their original form long lost. Beside the pillars lay scattered broken tiles and rotten wood, half-hidden by overgrown weeds. A dirt path, deeply rutted by rainwater, snaked into the village depths. No wheel tracks or human footprints were visible, only blurred prints of some unknown wild animal.

  I stepped onto the dirt path, officially entering Fengmen Village.

  The scene before me was even more desolate, more unsettling than the photos or my imagination had suggested.

  Dilapidated houses lay scattered haphazardly along the path. Most were traditional Northern mountain dwellings: rammed earth walls, small grey roof tiles. But now, these structures, once filled with life, stood on the verge of collapse.

  Many walls had crumbled, revealing dark interiors and twisted wooden frames. The walls still standing were mottled, earth peeling away to show yellowed straw beneath, covered in dense dark green moss and black, mold-like stains – as if the dampness and melancholy of the land itself had seeped out over years.

  Roof tiles were missing, leaving skeletal frames exposed. Beneath the gaping holes, rotten rafters and purlins struggled to maintain their final dignity, some already broken and sagging, threatening imminent collapse.

  Nearly all doors and windows were wide open, or rather, long gone. The black voids of doorways and windows stared like countless empty, numb eye sockets, lifelessly observing me, the intruder, or perhaps acting as portals to some unknown dark dimension. Occasionally, a broken wooden window or door panel still clung precariously to a decaying frame, stirred by an imperceptible draft to emit a long, grating groan – a sound terrifyingly loud in the dead silence.

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  Courtyards were utterly overgrown. Once-level ground was swallowed by rampant weeds and shrubs, some taller than a person. Rusty plowshares, broken hoe handles, shards of pottery, even a single, mud-caked child's cloth shoe lay scattered among the weeds, silently testifying to the human life that once existed here.

  An oppressive silence hung over the entire village. No crowing roosters, barking dogs, or human voices. Not even the chirp of insects could be heard. Only the wind – if you could call it that, a cold draft carrying the smell of decay – moaned and whimpered like weeping ghosts as it passed through the hollow houses and crumbling walls.

  I felt a powerful sensory impact. The scene possessed a Gothic aesthetic of decay – extreme dilapidation, desolation, the slow consumption by nature holding a strange, morbid fascination. As a journalist, I instinctively raised my camera and started shooting. Each frame in the viewfinder was visually striking, filled with story and suspense. My fingers excitedly pressed the shutter, documenting the shocking panorama of ruin.

  But simultaneously, a growing unease, a chill originating deep within, slowly began to overwhelm the initial excitement. It was too quiet, abnormally so. The decay itself carried an uncomfortable, cursed aura. This didn't feel like a naturally abandoned village, but rather... a vast, time-forgotten tomb.

  I switched on the audio recorder and spoke into the microphone, my voice mostly steady but betraying a slight tremor, recording my first impressions:

  "I am... inside Fengmen Village now. The scene... is hard to describe. Collapsed houses everywhere, overgrown with weeds, dead silent. The air is very damp, smells like... decay. The level of ruin far exceeds my expectations. It feels... it feels like something terrible happened here. No signs of life, except... except me. I need to find a relatively safe place for a temporary base."

  I picked my way cautiously along the village's single main path. The ground became muddier, turning into ankle-deep mire in places. I avoided structures that looked ready to collapse, carefully observing the buildings on either side.

  In a slightly more open area (perhaps once a village square for drying grain?), I saw something even more disturbing. Several thick wooden poles were planted crookedly in the center. Something seemed to have once hung from their tops, but now only frayed black ropes swayed slightly in the cold breeze. Around the poles, animal bones lay scattered on the ground, some blackened, some bearing gnaw marks. What made my scalp prickle was a small clump of what looked like human hair – black, tangled in the dirt and grass roots at the base of one pole.

  What was this? Remnants of some ritual? Or... something else, something more horrifying? I didn't dare dwell on it, just quickly snapped a few photos and hurried away from the clearing.

  I continued deeper into the village, hoping to find a relatively intact, structurally sound building to serve as my temporary base for the next few days (if I lasted that long). Most houses were too damaged – leaking roofs, leaning walls, completely uninhabitable.

  Finally, on slightly higher ground near the edge of the village (closer to the mountains behind), I found a building that looked marginally better. It seemed to have been the former village... school? Or committee office? It was slightly larger than the surrounding houses, built of brick and stone. Though equally dilapidated, its main structure appeared mostly intact. The main door was gone, leaving only an empty frame.

  After a moment's hesitation, I mustered my courage and went inside.

  The interior was equally dim and damp. Thick dust and bird droppings coated the floor; cobwebs filled the corners. Light filtered through broken windows and holes in the roof, forming beams in the dusty air where countless motes danced.

  There seemed to be two or three rooms. Plaster had mostly peeled from the walls, revealing the grey bricks beneath. Broken desk and chair legs, rusted metal filing cabinets (doors hanging open, empty inside), and moldy, blackened books and papers littered the floor. On one relatively intact wall, I could still see faded red paint slogans – "...Develop Production... Improve Life..." – remnants of a bygone era.

  In the largest room (perhaps a former classroom or office?), I chose a relatively clean, dry corner against the wall and dropped my heavy backpack. Then, I began clearing the space. I swept away debris and dust with my trekking pole, laid down a groundsheet, and pitched my one-person tent. The bright orange tent looked strikingly out of place in the grey, decaying surroundings, like a vividly colored flower blooming in the wrong place, radiating a fragile, incongruous vitality.

  I unpacked my sleeping bag, food, water, and other essentials from the backpack and placed them inside the tent. I checked the batteries on my camera, recorder, and GPS, ensuring they were functional. Having done all this, I collapsed onto the groundsheet, letting out a long sigh.

  The continuous travel and heightened tension left me deeply fatigued. The adrenaline rush was fading, replaced by a profound loneliness and unease that seeped into my bones.

  I sat in the abandoned, cold room, surrounded by the thick atmosphere of silence and decay. The tent offered minimal psychological comfort but couldn't block the oppressive, ominous feeling pervading the village. I felt like an intruder in the lair of some enormous beast, a beast watching me coldly from a dark corner.

  Through the broken window, the sky seemed to have darkened further. Dusk was creeping in.

  Just then, a strange sound drifted from outside the building.

  It was faint, ethereal, like... a child humming a nursery rhyme? Intermittent, barely audible, with an innocent yet eerie tone.

  The hairs on my arms stood on end instantly. I shot my head up, held my breath, and listened intently.

  The sound came again, seemingly from deeper within the village, then vanished.

  The suffocating silence returned.

  Was it auditory hallucination? Or... the wind?

  I didn't know. But my heart began to pound uncontrollably.

  The first night in Fengmen Village was about to begin. And I could already sense the danger.