Following the cognitive map that my excellent memory had naturally formed in my mind, I walked slowly along the gray stone path, weaving between the decaying trees of the monastery. Despite the desolation outside the monastery, the air inside the monastery was not as dry as expected, and the gray stones underfoot were dotted with moss. Maybe the soil here is not suitable for the growth of trees.

Following this path, I went around the back of a stone building and into a small courtyard. It looks extremely old and worn, with signs of many paintings, but its color has faded dramatically. The exposed exterior surface of the stone bricks is covered with moss, and the crumbling eaves are covered with cobwebs, but the overall structure of the building is not in much harm's way.

This gave me an indescribable illusion, and an inexplicable sense of melancholy rose from the bottom of my heart. I shook my head, dispelled the scattered thoughts, and walked to the end of the courtyard, where the stone walls and houses were united. So I lifted my breath and jumped up the wall, only to find a steep cliff on the other side of the wall. Leaning down, the stone wall stretched down for more than ten meters, until it reached a pond that suddenly appeared at the bottom.

There is no doubt that the building behind it has an underground structure that runs through the mountain, and the appearance of this waterhole is very suspicious, and it is not a natural landscape that should not be on such a barren mountain. A pool of jet-black stagnant water, with no visible underwater scene at all, only the wind whistling from time to time stirring up layers of microwaves on the water. Upon closer inspection, several unrecognizable cracks began in the middle of the stone wall and led into the waterhole below, and a dark green unidentified liquid was oozing from those cracks.

I shuddered.

At this moment, my senses were keenly aware of the approaching of the living form, and when I looked back, a hermit wrapped in a black robe came silently.

The other man walked up to me, without any intention of speaking, and a pair of dark red eyes hidden in the shadows stared straight at me.

"Hello. I'm a dream traveler who came to visit recently, Yun Chengyu. Still, my curiosity drove me to act, "Pardon me for taking the plunge, I would like to ask, can I enter this house and have a look?"

The black-robed man nodded silently, made a strange gesture, and then turned away without taking me into the building next to him. So I walked through the sparse and dry bushes in the courtyard and came alone to the gate of the house.

Heavy, thick, antiquated oak doors, the upper part of the porch is decorated with a shingled structure. The overlapping tiles were oddly shaped, with multiple ellipses superimposed on each other, as well as some sort of intricate symbol of right angles and gardens, which I assumed were runes of some religious or magical significance.

I didn't rush the door in, but looked at the scene in front of me for a moment—a bare gray wall, with rows of withered grass beneath it, and the pale branches of a few dead trees not far away. It made me feel very depressed.

I took a deep breath, trying to dispel the dull melancholy that had risen again with the Xuanmen Righteous Path Mental Method, but there still seemed to be a slight amount of smoke lingering in my heart.

I pushed open the door, and the process was not as laborious as I thought, because people often came in to take care of it. A slightly narrow hallway greets you, quiet and dark, with a seemingly dark end that leads to the living room. Walking down the hallway, I came to a strange room of about 100 square meters—this is not a living room in the usual sense.

Despite the high ceiling above my head, the feeling of depression in my heart lingered. The lighting was poor, and the sunlight outside, which was not very strong, was filtered by a row of slender stained-glass windows, and turned into a faint eerie red light that entered the room, forming a strange combination with the black oak floor beneath his feet, exerting a heavy pressure on the visitor's mind.

"Excuse me, is anyone here?"

"Hello, may I go in?"

I shouted several times in quick succession, but I didn't get any response. So I walked into the front room. The stucco on the surface of the walls has deteriorated, and many layers of peeling stucco can be seen, which have been stained with a dark green color by the years. The walls were draped with dark and worn wall coverings, and in addition to a large and thick desk, a few chairs, two rows of bookshelves, and a number of large objects of unknown purpose were disorganized—from the intricate mechanics and interconnected pipes, I surmised that they might be used to handle some kind of drug.

When I got to the bookshelf, I pulled out a random book from the dozen or so books scattered around. It was written in some kind of unknown text, the content is unknown, and judging by those rich plant illustrations, I think this is a book about herbs. I opened a few other books, and they were all plants I didn't recognize, and some things that might have been fungi or something.

After making sure there was nothing to be nostalgic about, I decided to go upstairs and have a look. I left the left side of the hall and walked through the many dark, complicated corridors to find the staircase up in the northwest corner of the house. Above is a narrow, dark hallway, and most of the rooms on either side of the corridor are locked. I didn't want to use my space-traveling ability to break in, so I skipped them and walked down the passage. Finally I came to a study, the only room on this floor with an open door.

"Hello, may I go in?"

I symbolically knocked on the door panel. No response. The study was silent, and darkness covered most of the room. While this had no effect on my visual observation, I was still surprised by the layout of the houses here. Even if there is a light, generally speaking, few people will completely isolate the study from the natural light source outside, right?

Walking into the room, I was fascinated by the manuscript spread out on the desk. But alas, I don't recognize the text on it, and there are no illustrations for me to speculate on this time. Looking around, the room was full of furniture, with benches, coffee tables, and even a chaise longue for reclining and resting, all of which were shabby antiques. It stands to reason that this is a bit more life-like than the lobby on the first floor, but I wasn't comfortable at all.

In order to dispel this negative emotion, I decided to play a game with myself. I sat down at that dark desk, imagining myself to be the author of the manuscripts on the table, trying to guess the work of the other party through this less skillful, more joking "profile." However, after that, instead of being relaxed by the game, I inexplicably had a lot of crazy thoughts. My body began to tremble involuntarily.