Finally, with the flapping of Baiaki's powerful wings, we finally burst out of this mist. I saw the endless barren wasteland stretching under the never-dissipating cloudy canopy of the cold plain, and the faint light of fire that belonged to the rumored stone villages swayed in the sky. The huge rolling hills are made up of gray granite, and the only thing that catches the eye is rocks and snow and ice, desolate and dark.

Master Abner and Tuttle sat a short distance in front of me, resting steadily on Baiakina's hideous body, their eyes closed, as if everything around them had nothing to do with them.

After about half an hour of flying, I was greeted by a strange stone building. It was a windowless monastery full of dead silence and cold aura, and its structure was low and massive. Around the building stands a ring of huge rocks, the structure of which is so natural that there is no trace of artificiality. I think this is the prehistoric monastery.

Baiaki carried us downward. Once I landed, I followed Master Abner and Tuttle through the rocks and into the stone monastery through a low arch. There is no lighting inside the building, but Tuttle lights a lantern that illuminates the bas-reliefs and frescoes on either side of the passage. These epic narratives seem to chronicle the history of the Cold Plains—I saw half-humans with horns and hooves and cracked mouths, a bloated purple spider, and evil monsters from the dark side of the moon, all while their daily lives and ancient wars are captured in horrific images. These stories, which are older than history, make me shudder.

Master Abner and Tuttle clearly noticed that I was observing the murals, but they didn't stop – and certainly didn't speed up. As we go deeper, the picture on the walls changes. The frescoes that follow show the desolate grey peaks that separate the cold plains from Inkanok, and the shatak birds nesting on ledges halfway up the mountainside. Later, I learned why the high-flying Shatak bird is far from the top of the mountain, because it is inhabited by dire with batwing wings and horns.

At some branch point of the dark labyrinth, I caught a glimpse of patterns that seemed to be newly painted, and I was horrified by what they depicted. In the treacherous valleys between the craggy peaks, massive worm-like creatures wriggle and flee, and the cave-dwellers scramble to get away from the water they depend on for their survival. In the calm darkness is an exaggerated depiction of a vortex of terror, and the ultimate abyss beneath the vortex is expressed in an indescribable, blank-space manner.

Seeing that I was still in my place, Tuttle stopped slightly, nodded at me, and made a gesture to keep going. I obeyed him. Finally, I followed Master Tuttle and Abner into a huge hall. As soon as I entered, my eyes were first drawn to the terrifying altar in the center—six stone sculptures dyed a deep purple by an inexplicable liquid, surrounding a large circular bottomless pit. There was no lighting here, and the faint glow of Tuttle's lantern seemed weak, like a boat in a dark ocean that could capsize at any moment.

At the other end of the pit was a tall stone platform built on five steps, and in the golden throne sat an awkwardly humanoid figure dressed in a yellow silk robe depicting a red pattern, and its face covered under a silk veil, apparently the legendary priest.

Master Abner and Tuttle stopped in front of the pit. The former gestured a symbol to the priest with his hand, and the priest raised an ivory flute and responded by playing a tune that was extremely unpleasant to the listener. There was a long exchange of words before Master Abner turned to me and told me to walk to the edge of the altar. I did.

Then, the patterned silk on the priest's body was lifted into a small horn by the grayish claws, and I immediately realized that the other man's true identity was not human. Then, with insane whispering, murmuring, and chanting, and the frantic writhing of the soft, strange form beneath the mask, the space on the large circular pit in front of me began to distort visibly to the naked eye—it wasn't a purely optical phenomenon, and I was pretty sure of it with my extradimensional vision.

But what made me even more horrified and panicked was that the sound that came into my head through my ears and the strange ritual movements that came into my eyes gave me a disgusting familiar feeling. It was in the notes of the Xuanyang Daoist, and the taboo that was vaguely mentioned in the "Xuanjun Seven Chapters of the Secret Sutra", a certain nameless "old ruler"—I don't quite understand the meaning of this strange word, but I can be sure that it is definitely not something that humans should explore.

Eventually, the space within the dimly lit stone temple was replaced by the priest's spell in an indescribable way. The tall filthy dome above was gone, replaced by a strange sky with two black stars hanging from it. The distorted spatial vesicle expanded further, and the crater in front of me was replaced by a calm, abyssal, immeasurable lake.

It was as if I had suddenly realized a lot of things, and this large and disordered current of thought made it impossible for my subjective consciousness to deal with it. But I can be sure—and vaguely perceive—that there is something terrifying, beyond imagination, beneath this terrifying abyss before me. I...... I was wrong, very wrong, this monastery—these monks, the priests—was definitely not a good person for me to ask for help, even though they didn't lie to me.

Before I could try to grasp those vague thoughts more clearly, a terrifying fear welled up in my heart that forced me to find a way to escape. No, I can't bear the ...... under that abyss I must not allow myself to see what is going to happen next. I turned and rushed into the labyrinth of murals, trying not to wonder if the ugly, soft form behind me would perform sorcery, or if the two master warriors would come and capture me.