An Old Friend

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The abyss was cold and desolate, shadows cast by flickering lamps layered one upon another.
Only when the people climbing the mountain began to slow their pace did the man dare to quicken his own steps a little. Playing hide-and-seek with so many was far more daunting than navigating the labyrinthine paths of the Abyssal Mountain; after all, being the hunted was far more nerve-wracking than being the hunter.
Hah, it was a pity that now, even if he wanted to be anxious, he no longer could be.
Years had passed; not only had Abyssal Mountain changed, but he himself had altered greatly. The once graceful youth was now nothing more than an unkempt fellow.
He had undoubtedly lingered in the mountain too long; though he was not afraid of being found, rushing to dive into Ji Linyun’s embrace would only waste time. Perhaps it was better to retreat deeper into the mountain, find a place to hide for a while. No matter how careful one is, there is always a slip, especially in the bottomless Abyssal Mountain. If one cannot even see clearly in a corner, who can understand the whole?
The leisurely man muttered to himself, teasing in boredom, contemplating his next move.
“Ji Linyun, Ji Linyun, I’m just as eager to see you, but one must choose the right moment, hehe.”
He weaved through Abyssal Mountain with meticulous planning, knowing exactly when to hide and when to move, seemingly blessed by some divine providence to avoid all others on the mountain.
“What’s that?” The man stopped at a certain point, glancing slyly around before vanishing from sight.
The cold mountain wind made her shiver as she curled up.
The task was done, the person she sought found. Su Ningxin sat on a bench under a streetlamp, stealing a moment’s rest amid the busyness.
She was alone; it must be near dawn, and Abyssal Mountain still held its profound tranquility. Su Ningxin had stopped at a resting point along the rugged, winding paths—crowded by day, but now, even if a ghost appeared, she would not be surprised.
Pulling out her phone to check the photos she had taken, she muttered quietly, “If he returns now, things will get busy.”
Her investigation was finally making progress, yet Abyssal Mountain had once again thrown a wrench into matters, forcing her to rush over. Though she had never personally witnessed the “Night Dawn” stories recorded in the files, the strange occurrences she had encountered now far eclipsed anything seen in the past decade. Could it be that all those tales were true?
Su Ningxin recalled the documents and a recent conversation:
Just as she was about to delve deeper into the Abyssal Mountain, “No. Wait for others to arrive,” Ji Linyun had said firmly.
When she suggested returning to the city to join the team stabilizing the situation, “No, the personnel have been decided,” he replied.
Hoping to finish her unfinished business first, “No, you’re too concerned about those things. When you come down the mountain, your only task is to rest,” he had said.
No matter what, she was told not to act rashly—“Don’t rush.” That was Ji Linyun’s counsel.
Su Ningxin understood the peculiar nature of their organization, but she knew waiting alone wouldn’t get things done.
She turned to gaze at the mountain peak; the shadow of Abyssal stretched deep into the night’s core—fearful, secluded. Many of its anomalies were unseen and unknowable, like a hidden current beneath the city’s surface. So many mysteries of the Night Dawn remained unresolved, unknown figures lurking.
Though Ji Linyun had warned her, “Those with ill intentions, chaotic and tangled affairs—they are all slowly surfacing. Don’t forget our code.”
Ill intentions, conspiracies, and chaos stirred, either openly or in the shadows.
Yet Su Ningxin could not stop pondering. Suddenly, she understood—
“God.” No wonder Ji Linyun forbade calling anyone that.
If a deity truly existed on Abyssal Mountain, could the people of Night Dawn still walk the normal path untroubled?
But then she thought, even without a god, people always yearn for the unattainable. Besides, Night Dawn was no ordinary city.
Lost in thought, her almond-shaped eyes flickered beneath a calm smile, concealing the depths of her mind.
Human nature was inscrutable; it was not hard for her to comprehend.
Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, she told herself—yet in truth, she could not help but think.
Still, Su Ningxin happily opened a meal box someone had sent her.
“Not bad at all, even a midnight snack,” she said, stuffing a mouthful of food, glancing around.
No one was in sight, so she began eating alone on the bench. During the day, Abyssal Mountain told one strange tale; by night, another ghostly one.
Her chopsticks paused; she chewed silently, her cheeks puffed out. Just as she said no one was with her, someone appeared.
Normally, Su Ningxin would hide quickly—at this hour, anyone besides their own would be questionable. The voice was intermittent, not as firm and clear as someone from their organization. Moreover, it was only one person—they never acted alone, and Su Ningxin was no exception; one message from her, and a dozen people would arrive immediately.
But she neither hid nor sent a message, nor did she put down her chopsticks.
Not far ahead, a man stepped cautiously towards her, as if afraid no one would see him. He seemed to be admiring the scenery, but at this hour, not even light could penetrate Abyssal Mountain.
“That’s him! Sneaky as ever,” Su Ningxin thought, watching as he approached her.
Their eyes met; she swallowed her food and stood up, reaching out to touch the man’s face.
He stepped back warily, but she smiled brightly.
“You’re not a ghost, so you must be Uncle Luo!”
The man laughed awkwardly, saying nothing.
That was how it was—it had been many years; it was normal not to recognize each other at first glance. Su Ningxin continued,
“It’s me, Ningxin, Su Ningxin! Uncle Luo, you’re back in Night Dawn!”
The man called “Uncle Luo” clapped his hands joyfully.

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“Ningxin! You’ve changed so much. How come you’re still here so late, coming all the way up here for a midnight snack? Learning from your Uncle Luo?”
“Uncle Luo! Haha, you haven’t changed a bit. How come you come back without a word, and at this hour come up to Abyssal Mountain to enjoy the breeze? Didn’t you get enough before?”
“I just arrived in Night Dawn, slept well on the plane, so I came straight here to relive old times.”
Their conversation was intermittent, neither getting to the point. Uncle Luo’s eyes darted anxiously.
“What’s wrong, Uncle Luo?”
“Uh, Ningxin, do you want to go down the mountain? Shall we go together?”
Su Ningxin nodded quickly but thought, “Is that all he’s thinking? Let me go along and see what tricks he has.”
She didn’t immediately follow him but finished the food in the meal box. Once done, she took out her phone and tapped a few times.
“All right, Uncle Luo, let’s go down.” She walked toward the main road, but in the blink of an eye, Uncle Luo was already on the other side. Could his path really lead out? Heh, Su Ningxin chuckled inwardly, said nothing, and quickened her pace behind him.
Inside Abyssal Mountain, isolated from the outside world.
Side by side, Su Ningxin and Uncle Luo walked the road, occasionally catching the faint glow of distant lights. Though it was not pitch-black, even at close quarters they could barely make out each other’s faces.
Silence—too much silence.
Su Ningxin held a lanyard with a card in her right hand, flicking it open and closed, wrapping it around her hand tightly, never letting it go.
Her hands were seldom empty—either holding her phone or something else, always gripping something.
The soft whistle of the swinging lanyard could be heard clearly. She hummed a tune, walking a “downhill path” she had never taken before.
“Ningxin, you haven’t said why you’re still on Abyssal Mountain so late.”
Since Uncle Luo joined her, he spoke little, eyes fixed on the path.
“It’s not just me—there are many others. Uncle Luo, you should know, Night Dawn has changed a lot since you’ve been gone. Even you wouldn’t dare call yourself a local anymore.”
Su Ningxin stopped fiddling with the card and tightened the lanyard around her hand.
Uncle Luo wore loose clothing and carried a moderately sized bag, saying it was from just after his flight. He walked steadily, having set foot on the path with no turning back. Since that was so, he chatted casually with Su Ningxin to mask his inner thoughts. Yet seeing her did stir nostalgic memories of “reliving old times.”
Returning to Abyssal, returning to Night Dawn, everyone beside him was unfamiliar.
He simply did not want to speak much—returning to his old self, few words, few thoughts.
As he walked, he failed to notice Su Ningxin lagging behind, her gaze fixed on a gap in the darkness, eyes frozen in thought:
Time should be moving toward dawn, yet darkness deepened instead.
She raised her hand; the wind gradually died down. Aside from them, there was no other sound—no voices, no noises—as if disconnected from the outside world.
Su Ningxin glanced at Uncle Luo again. He was waiting, his expression calm and composed; the feigned warmth was gone. Yet his demeanor was not frightening—there was an ordinary quality to him, less emotion, more simplicity.
“Don’t let it come to that, Uncle Luo,” she thought,
“Making me forget the you I remember.”
The abyss was deep and bottomless.
Instinctively, Su Ningxin took note of her surroundings—where was this? Did Abyssal Mountain have this road?
Strangely, she could see much more clearly now, walking on a main road. Was that Night Dawn in the distance? The blurry lights and scenes made her uneasy.
Wait, she vaguely recalled some documents about Abyssal Mountain. So leaving here meant moving closer to “her” true form. Even they could not fully comprehend Abyssal’s secrets—how did Uncle Luo know these? He had indeed left Night Dawn, Su Ningxin wondered. She wanted to check his bag but not now.
“Not used to it... Uncle Luo, haha, yes, I should call you Uncle,” the man said, sounding reflective. His smile was no longer pretentious but heartfelt, as if recalling something joyful yet tinged with sadness.
His purpose remained unclear. Su Ningxin could not claim to understand him, but she had one advantage: what she saw and remembered always came back when needed, even from over a decade ago when she was a child.
In her memory, whenever the man appeared, there was always another with him—she remembered...
“Uncle Luo, shall we keep going? Or come back with me? Yun Ge and Wu Ge are thinking of you. Returning to old places, not just for nostalgia, but for old friends, right?”
Su Ningxin smiled cunningly, her thoughts unreadable. Uncle Luo kept his head down, walking forward, thinking:
Old friends, yes, I have become an “old friend” too. For Night Dawn and Abyssal, there were too many old friends, too far away. Neither they nor I wished to live in the past, which was why we returned—to be close to all we cared about.

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“Ningxin, don’t you miss someone?” Uncle Luo said meaningfully.
“To miss someone is to be human; without attachment, what would we be?”
“Well, I miss many, Uncle Luo. You’re one of them.”
Unexpectedly amused, he laughed, “You’ve really changed, Ningxin.”
They reached the end of the road.
Abyssal turned upside down, heaven and earth altered.
“What is this?” Su Ningxin asked, noticing that the surroundings had vanished, leaving only a blurry, shifting night mirage. Around them was a wall like mist—no matter where they went, they could not touch it. Their reflections, too, were indistinct and separated.
Uncle Luo grabbed her hand, warning, “Be careful. Most of Abyssal’s strangeness comes from that woman’s influence, so many things remain formless.”
Su Ningxin took out her phone and snapped two photos. Since she and Uncle Luo traveled together, the scenes could be reproduced but with altered light, details, and parameters—rendering them unreliable references. The phone had lost all signal.
“So, to enter this place and approach her, we must understand her mind?” Su Ningxin asked, but Uncle Luo remained silent.
“Let’s stop here. If you do nothing, she will reject outsiders, sending them beyond Abyssal Mountain,” he explained. “If you try to find a way out, you will only go deeper, closer to her.”
“Oh, so it’s always possible to leave. Haha, you really work hard to shake us off.” Su Ningxin spread her hands. “Once out, where would you go? As long as it’s Night Dawn, how could you hide from us?”
“Haha, Ningxin, old stories must wait until the business is done. Rest assured, I’m not going anywhere—I’ll wait for you to find me.”
Su Ningxin shook the card in her hand, laughing softly.
“Good! Uncle Luo, I’m glad to walk a while with you.”
“Glad? Even if I have ill intentions?”
“Of course. At least you’re back. Didn’t you say one should have attachments? Since you left, many have missed you.”
The man smiled.
“Don’t make me out to be someone important. I’m especially unworthy in Night Dawn.” He asked, “So, are you still going, Ningxin?”
“Since I’m here, it would be a waste not to find out,” Su Ningxin answered.
“Heh, putting so much thought into Abyssal Mountain isn’t wise. I can’t claim to understand it well—it has limited use to me.” Uncle Luo said, “The key isn’t the external oddities but the hearts of people like me, which require the most caution.”
Su Ningxin nodded and looked around as she moved forward. Uncle Luo stood quietly, watching, gently waving as he murmured:
“If the past had no faults, how would chaos arise? If this moment is wonderful, why would old friends return home?”
Su Ningxin walked on, glancing back to see Uncle Luo standing still, waving to an old friend.
Entering the backside of Abyssal Mountain, it retained all its external traits—cold, mysterious, endless.
She saw the silhouette of distant peaks; the ground was a mirror of water, the sky dark with stars. Something felt off—too lonely, too quiet, even hollow. It lacked the tranquil otherworldliness; instead, it felt thin and empty, stripped of all emotional excess.
At the center of the water mirror stood ruins, so dilapidated that one could not tell if they were carved artifacts or shattered stone peaks.
A massive strange beast knelt there, its mouth tightly shut, silent. Its tail blade coiled around the small peak it stood on, its four legs supporting it steadily on a pillar too small for its body. Its entire form was etched with blood-red patterns spreading around the water’s edge, now darkened.
The small peak was not large, about the height of two people, and did not seem out of place. The beast knelt atop it, beside it stood a solemn young man.
Mo Ling heard a faint whoosh; Su Ningxin shook the lanyard on her right hand, finally wrapping it around her wrist. She took out her phone and snapped a photo; the flash brightened the surroundings considerably.
“Sorry, sorry, I forgot to turn off the flash,” she hurriedly apologized.
The solemn youth showed a puzzled expression, whispering to himself, “Here, yet unaffected?”
“Ah—honestly, I’m a bit lost,” Su Ningxin said sheepishly, scratching her head. Mo Ling surveyed her quietly and smiled.
“If you’re here to see her, then you truly came to the wrong place.”