Before dawn, the mountain breathed quietly.
At the base of Qingyun Mountain, a group of hikers gathered near a weathered signboard. Wind tugged at their jackets, mist curling around their boots like pale fingers.
They looked ordinary.
Backpacks. Hiking boots dusted with mud. Thermal flasks clipped to straps. One man even laughed loudly, adjusting his cap as if annoyed by the cold.
But their eyes were wrong.
Too alert.Too sharp.
One of them crouched to retie his shoelace—his fingers brushing past a concealed blade taped cleanly along his calf. Another checked his phone, screen dimmed, a satellite tracker blinking faintly before disappearing back into his pocket.
"Route confirmed," a man murmured, voice low, hidden beneath the wind."Student groups will enter from the east trail."
A third man lifted his binoculars briefly, scanning the mountain path ahead."Fog's thick today. Visibility drops after the first ridge."
Good.
Perfect.
The man who seemed to be their leader adjusted the strap on his backpack and smiled faintly—an expression that never reached his eyes.
"Remember," he said casually, like a friendly reminder on a hiking trip,"we blend in until we don't need to."
They started walking.
Their footsteps merged with the crunch of gravel, swallowed by the mountain—leaving no trace of the hunters moving uphill.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
The black SUV moved steadily along the mountain road, its engine hum low and even, cutting through the pale morning mist like a blade through silk.
Outside the window, Qingyun Mountain rose layer by layer—deep green pines, jagged stone ridges softened by drifting fog, the sky above washed in a faint silver-blue as the sun struggled to fully wake. The world felt ancient here, as if time itself had slowed to accommodate the mountain's presence.
Inside the car, warmth lingered.
Tang Mingshan sat upright in the back seat, military posture ingrained even in retirement, his hands resting calmly atop his cane. His gaze was directed forward, eyes sharp yet peaceful, like a man revisiting old memories etched into stone and blood.
Beside him sat Tang Yuze, dressed casually in a hoodie and cap, sunglasses hanging loosely at his collar. For once, the dazzling star aura was muted, replaced by something boyish and genuine. He leaned closer to the window, watching the scenery rush past with unconcealed curiosity.
"Grandpa," Yuze said lightly, breaking the quiet, "this place really hasn't changed, huh? Still looks like a painting."
Tang Mingshan chuckled softly. "Paintings don't capture the cold," he replied. "Or the silence. Mountains like this… they remember things."
Meilin sat opposite them, her long hair tied loosely, a light coat draped over her shoulders. Zimei was curled in her lap, warm and soft, her small chest rising and falling steadily. Meilin's fingers absentmindedly stroked the puppy's fur, the familiar motion grounding her.
She smiled faintly at their conversation.
This scene—Grandfather. Brother. Home.
In her past life, she had never been granted something this simple.
"Second Brother," Meilin said quietly, her voice calm but warm, "you should take more breaks like this."
Yuze turned toward her, grinning. "What, worried about me already? I just got back, you know."
"I'm serious," she replied, glancing at him sideways. "You run too fast."
Her tone wasn't reproachful—just concerned. The kind that only family used.
Yuze's smile softened. "With you and Grandpa around, I guess I can slow down a bit."
Tang Mingshan watched them from the corner of his eye, the lines on his face easing, his grip on the cane loosening ever so slightly.
For a long time, this house had been too quiet.
Now, the sound of voices filled the space again.
The SUV slowed slightly as the road curved.
Zimei suddenly stirred.
Her ears twitched.
She lifted her head, letting out a low, uncertain sound.
Meilin's hand stilled.
"What is it?" Yuze asked, leaning closer. "Scared, little one?"
Zimei didn't respond to his teasing. Her body tensed, gaze fixed on the fog-shrouded forest outside.
Meilin felt it then—a subtle tightening in her chest, sharp and sudden, like a thread pulled taut.
"Commander Yan," she said softly, eyes still on the trees, "slow down a little."
The driver responded immediately, easing his foot off the accelerator.
Tang Mingshan's gaze sharpened. "You sensed something?"
Meilin nodded slightly. "I don't know why. Just… a feeling."
The mountain grew quieter as they climbed higher.
No birds.No rustling animals.
Only the sound of tires rolling over stone and the wind brushing against the SUV's body.
Tang Mingshan looked out at the forest, expression unreadable.
"This mountain," he said slowly, "has never liked noise."
Meilin lowered her gaze to Zimei, who pressed closer into her lap, as if seeking protection.
She tightened her hold just a little.
Somewhere ahead, unseen paths were crossing.
And though the car continued smoothly forward, wrapped in warmth and family—the mountain itself seemed to be holding its breath.