Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Writer's Diary:

I finally understood what was so bizarre.

It wasn't a snake's head at all; it was a roe deer's head. Yet, no one seemed to find it odd.

It was as if, in their minds, a snake's head naturally looked like a roe deer's head.

I didn't believe it, so I asked Cayson what he saw. Was it a snake's head or a roe deer's head?

He looked at me as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course, it's a snake's head."

I asked several others, and they all gave me the same answer.

Was it me who had the problem, or was it them?

We continued forward and arrived at a pond.

The pond was crystal clear, a rare sight in this icy and snowy landscape, with faint steam rising from it.

I dipped my hand in, and sure enough, it was warm.

Everyone marveled at it.

Aidan, however, said there was nothing strange about it. White Mountain, a dormant volcano known for its mystical legends, had countless hot springs of various sizes on the mountain.

This pond was likely a hot spring too.

But the location was odd, with no signs of civilization nearby, just rocks and emptiness all around, making it feel eerie.

My intuition told me we had reached our destination.

### Writer's Diary:

That night, we set up camp beside the pond. The temperature here was noticeably a few degrees higher than the surrounding area.

The investor wanted to take a warm bath in the pond but was stopped by Domenic.

"This place might be the ancient Berora ruins, believed to be sacred. Bathing in the pond would be disrespectful and could bring punishment."

What was Berora?

It seemed they were looking for the ruins of some country or tribe.

Perhaps because this place was so unusual, we found several hibernating snakes in the tent that night.

Aidan skinned them all and prepared them as our meal.

Snake meat wasn't tasty, but it was better than nothing.

Aidan arranged for people to take turns on watch, with a few of us switching every two hours.

I barely made it through my shift and quickly crawled into my sleeping bag.

Half-asleep, I heard the howling wind, mixed with what sounded like wolves howling.

I hurried outside the tent and found the photographer on duty fast asleep.

In the distance, I saw flickering green lights.

Wolves.

I rushed to wake the others, but they seemed to be in a deep, unshakable sleep.

The last entry seemed to be written after the writer returned from White Mountain.

### Writer's Diary:

This trip was indeed worth it.

But are we still ourselves?

...

The diary ended there.

No one knew how they fended off the wolves, what else they encountered, whether they found the Berora ruins, or how they eventually got out.

The writer's diary did clear up some of my doubts.

But the truth seemed even more tangled, with more questions than answers.

Soon, I realized this matter wasn't over.

I had to make a trip to White Mountain.

There hadn't been any major news at the newspaper in recent months.

The higher-ups were pressuring the editor-in-chief, who finally decided to form an adventure team within the office to go to White Mountain and find out why those people ended up eating raw meat on the street.

This incident had already attracted widespread attention, with many people speculating. If we could turn this into an article, it would surely be a hit.

I was one of the team members.

We set off immediately after Cayson's funeral.

On one hand, I feared I might end up like Cayson. On the other hand, I wanted to know what had happened to him.

This was my fate, and I couldn't escape it.

The newspaper specially hired an adventure expert to lead the team, and we were to follow his instructions and arrangements.

Joining us was a couple who had sponsored the newspaper with a large sum of money just to go on this White Mountain adventure.

The man, Benjamin, was a typical wealthy young man with no apparent direction in life.

The woman, Paulina, didn't seem very affectionate with him.

Despite it being early autumn, the leader insisted we bring down jackets, goggles, and other equipment.

He said the middle of White Mountain was already covered in snow and ice and extremely cold at this time of year.

We flew directly to White Mountain Airport, then drove for several hours before getting out of the car to hike into the mountain.

When we felt the unusually cold air, we knew the leader was right.

We carried ample supplies, bypassed the crowded western side, and entered White Mountain from the southern back side.

The leader enthusiastically told us about the history of White Mountain along the way.

In the "Classic of Mountains and Seas," an ancient Chinese text, it was recorded that "beyond the northeastern sea... in the great wilderness, there is a mountain called Snowy Peak," another name for White Mountain.

It was said that deities were believed to inhabit the mountain.

I looked at the endless mountain.

Were there really gods inside?

Although we were here to find out why the previous group went mad, we didn't actually know what they encountered or where they went.

We could only follow the route they initially set.

I pressed the bone amulet hanging around my neck.

I still didn't know what the patterns on it meant.

The writer's diary didn't mention this bone either.

Until I uncovered the truth, I had to suppress all my questions.