Hidden Traces on White Dragon Ridge

Autumn arrived swiftly and ruthlessly in the Zhongnan Mountains. Just yesterday, the peaks were adorned with vibrant autumn foliage; overnight, a bitter north wind stripped most bare, revealing jagged, skeletal ridges. Leaden gray clouds pressed heavily on the mountain range, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, foretelling a long-brewing storm. Yun Zhongjun tightened the worn, blue cloth bundle slung over his shoulder. Inside were a few hard biscuits, a small pouch of salt, a well-honed dagger, and an object wrapped in layers of oilcloth, cold to the touch—the Dragon-Seeking Compass, an heirloom of the Yun clan for generations. His footsteps crunched softly on the leaf-strewn mountain path, a solitary sound in the silent valley. He was tall and lean, with refined features that held a quiet, scholarly air uncommon among hunters, despite his coarse hunting attire. Yet, beneath his calm demeanor, his deep eyes churned with a heavy, age-inappropriate anxiety and a flicker of near-fanatic intensity. He was searching for a dragon—a creature said to slumber deep within the most treacherous part of Zhongnan Mountain: the heart of White Dragon Ridge. This was no mere legend or delusion. The Yun clan had lived hidden in Zhongnan since the previous dynasty, calling themselves "Dragon Seekers," guardians of an ancient secret and an even older duty. Yun Zhongjun's grandfather, a man who spent his life trekking these mountains only to die coughing blood, had gripped his hand on his deathbed, his clouded eyes flaring with final fervor: "Jun'er... White Dragon Ridge... Not dragon... Not demon... It's 'It'... Find 'It'... Only then... can you lift... the century-old curse... upon our Yun clan..." The "curse" his grandfather spoke of was the bizarre fate entwined with the Yun bloodline. Every other generation, men in their prime would suddenly fall into a deathly slumber. Their bodies would become rigid and cold as forged iron, while their consciousness seemed trapped in endless, agonizing nightmares, wasting away over months or years until death claimed them. No cure existed, no solution—only the grip of an invisible affliction. Yun Zhongjun's own father had collapsed when he was ten, lying like a living corpse in their ancestral home deep in Zhongnan, sustained only by ginseng broth administered by his mother and loyal servants. The only clues were his grandfather's fragmented words and this cold bronze compass. Its surface was neither metal nor jade, etched with dizzyingly complex star charts and unrecognizable tadpole-like symbols. At its center was embedded an eerie blue gemstone, seemingly filled with slowly swirling liquid. According to his grandfather, when draconic energy—or the aura of "It"—was near, the gem would glow, and the needle would point towards the source. Yun Zhongjun's destination was the "Cloud Rest Inn," the only shelter near the base of White Dragon Ridge. More a cluster of crude wooden shacks clinging to the cliff face than an inn, it catered to reckless souls daring to venture deep into the ridge in search of mythical beasts or rare herbs. Inside, the air was thick with the stench of cheap liquor and sweat. Several burly hunters huddled around a firepit, loudly recounting yesterday's hunts and strange happenings in the mountains. "Heard about Old Li?" a scar-faced man gulped his liquor, lowering his voice with a shudder. "Went into West Gully two days ago, chasing that century-old Blood Ganoderma... came back stark raving mad!" He took another swig. "Just kept babbling 'Light... so much light... dragon scales... moving stones...' Then he collapsed, foaming at the mouth, still twitching now!" "West Gully? That place is cursed!" a gaunt man chimed in, rubbing his hands near the fire. "Since last year, barely anyone comes out whole. Either mad or covered in hideous sores, dying awful deaths. Folk say a demon dragon lurks there!" "Demon dragon?" a burly man, likely a caravan guard, scoffed. "More like miasma and venomous bugs! No such thing as a real dragon..." "Hey, don't be so sure!" Scarface glared. "Three years back, I saw it! Near Dragonfall Cliff! Moon was bright as day, then suddenly this foul wind whipped up, nearly knocked me off my feet! Then I heard... a sound..." He swallowed, genuine fear in his eyes. "Not a tiger's roar, not an eagle's cry... deep, made your chest tight, made your bones vibrate! Then... a huge white shadow, bigger than this whole inn! Shot up from the cliff base, 'whoosh!' straight into the clouds! Gone! So fast... couldn't make out what it was! Just left behind... this weird smell... like rust mixed with burnt stuff!" Yun Zhongjun sat alone at a greasy table in the corner, nursing a bowl of hot broth, silently breaking a hard biscuit. He appeared indifferent, but Scarface's words hammered against his heart. The immense white shadow, the deep sound, the strange smell... echoed the fragmented descriptions in his grandfather's notes: "light," "body neither metal nor stone," "roaring like thunder"... These puzzle pieces collided violently in his mind. "Rust mixed with burnt..." He subtly sniffed the air, searching for a trace. It smelled unlike any known beast. His hand instinctively brushed the concealed compass, its coldness seeping through the cloth. "Young master, you look new. Headed for White Dragon Ridge too?" The innkeeper, a wiry, shrewd old man, sauntered over, refilling Yun Zhongjun's bowl with hot water, his eyes probing. Yun Zhongjun nodded calmly. "Heard there are wonders in the ridge. Hoping to find my luck." The old man shook his head, sighing. "Young man, take an old man's advice: that place... isn't for going. Luck there... is mostly bad luck." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, laced with stale tobacco. "Lately... it's been restless. Forget West Gully and Dragonfall Cliff. Even the woods near the ridge's edge are strange. Two days ago, Hunter Wang's dog chased a rabbit in there... never came back. Later, Wang went looking... only found half a dog leg. The wound... tsk tsk, clean cut, like sliced by something... razor-sharp. Not a beast's bite!" Fear flickered in the old man's rheumy eyes. "And stranger still, many folks hear this sound from the ridge at night... 'Hummm... hummm...' Like... like a giant spinning wheel? Or... something calling from underground? Chills your bones! Only stops near dawn." "Hummm... hummm..." Yun Zhongjun's heart lurched. His grandfather's notes mentioned it! Describing "It" awakening or moving, accompanied by a "deep, thunderous, continuous sound like a loom!" His hand beneath the table clenched involuntarily. Suddenly, the window blazed! A stark white bolt of lightning ripped across the sky without warning, flooding the dim inn with blinding light! Immediately after, an ear-splitting thunderclap exploded overhead, shaking the inn's timbers. "A storm's coming!" Chaos erupted inside. Yun Zhongjun shot to his feet! Not because of the thunder—but because of what was happening inside his robe! The Dragon-Seeking Compass against his chest had become scalding hot! Through the thick cloth and layers, the heat seared his skin! He felt the central blue gem pulsing frantically, like a living heart! An unmistakable, powerful pull emanated from the compass itself, tugging him insistently towards... the depths of White Dragon Ridge! He could no longer feign calm. His hand dove inside his robe, fingers brushing the cold bronze edge. The heat and pull intensified. Fighting the urge to yank it out, his gaze, sharp as a blade, pierced the crude window frame, fixed on the direction of White Dragon Ridge—illuminated for an instant by the lightning, then swallowed again by deeper darkness. The wind howled, the storm pressed down. Yet Yun Zhongjun's blood boiled with the artifact's awakening. Ignoring the startled looks from the innkeeper and others, he slapped a few coppers on the table, grabbed his bundle and the long-handled hunting spear leaning nearby (its tip not ordinary iron, but a dark, engraved metal of unknown origin), and plunged out into the roaring wind and icy downpour. Cold rain instantly drenched his hair and clothes, streaming down his face, blurring his vision. The gale screamed through the valley, whipping leaves and grit against his skin. Yun Zhongjun paid no heed. One hand clutched the burning compass against his chest, feeling its increasingly clear, powerful directional pulse. The other gripped the spear as he scrambled, stumbled, and ran headlong through the treacherous, rain-slicked slopes towards the forbidden depths of White Dragon Ridge—the legendary maw that devoured lives. The compass had never reacted so violently! His grandfather had said this only happened when extremely close to the target, or when the target was in a state of extreme agitation! "It" was there! Right there, in the storm-lashed, lightning-riven heart of White Dragon Ridge! The source of his clan's century-old affliction! The "It" his grandfather called "neither dragon nor demon"! The path became a treacherous river of mud, steep and slick. Ancient trees thrashed like frenzied ghosts in the gale. Lightning repeatedly tore the darkness, briefly illuminating jagged rocks and bottomless ravines ahead. Thunder boomed and echoed through the peaks, pounding against his eardrums. Driven by a lifetime of mountain agility and the fire of obsession burning within, Yun Zhongjun clawed his way upwards. The rain lashed him, chilling him to the bone, but the compass against his chest burned like a brand. The blue gem's light even glowed faintly through the cloth, pulsing erratically on his sternum. The needle trembled wildly, pointing unwaveringly towards a storm-shrouded, rain-lashed precipice high on the ridge—Dragonfall Cliff! As he neared the cliff, the surroundings grew increasingly bizarre. The faint smell of "rust mixed with burnt" lingered in the downpour, becoming sharper! Even more chilling, the "Hummm... hummm..." sound described by Scarface and the innkeeper pierced the roar of wind and thunder, reaching Yun Zhongjun's ears! It wasn't thunder! It was a deep, steady, metallic throbbing! Like the meshing of colossal, unseen gears, or the growl of some vast engine! The sound came from below, and from the depths of the precipice ahead! Each "hum" resonated in his very bones, setting his blood aflame and making the compass burn brighter! He hauled himself onto a massive, rain-slicked boulder and finally saw Dragonfall Cliff. It was a sheer, knife-cut drop, plunging into an abyss choked with ink-black mist. Then, in a blinding flash of lightning, Yun Zhongjun witnessed a sight he would never forget: Embedded in the cliff face, near its very crest, partly buried in rock, was an enormous, angular object of stark silver-white! It gleamed with a cold, utterly unnatural metallic sheen under the electric glare! Its shape... resembled the tail section of some colossal construct! A tail covered in massive, overlapping, intricately interlocking silver-white metal scales! The scales had razor-sharp edges, their structure unnervingly precise! More terrifyingly, the "tail" was moving! In time with the penetrating "Hummm... hummm...", the giant metal scales were slowly, rhythmically shifting and adjusting! With each subtle movement, faint threads of eerie blue light, like dancing electrical arcs, leaked from the seams! As Yun Zhongjun stood transfixed, breath caught in his throat, an unprecedented bolt of lightning—a lance thrown by the heavens—slammed directly into the silver-white metal tail!