(Time: Morning of the second day)

  The faint sound behind me, like a dry twig snapping, instantly stretched my nerves to their breaking point. I whirled around, my heart threatening to leap from my chest, right hand tightly gripping the wooden stick serving as my weapon, left hand instinctively shielding the camera hanging on my chest.

  However, behind me, there was nothing but the thick fog, like condensed milk, and the muddy path winding away into its depths.

  No one.

  Only the dead silence and the distorted, struggling silhouettes of trees and ruined walls within the fog, resembling a grotesque ink wash painting, carrying a silent, oppressive eeriness.

  Was it an illusion? Did the wind move something? Or... was it auditory hallucination brought on by excessive tension?

  I couldn't be sure. But the feeling at that moment—the certainty that "something" was behind me—had been so real, so intense, that a fine layer of cold sweat broke out on my back.

  I stared warily into the fog's depths for a long while until confirming there was no movement. Only then did I slowly release a breath, though the tension inside me hadn't lessened in the slightest. I felt like an antelope that had wandered into a lion's territory, every step taken on thin ice, every faint sound potentially signaling mortal danger.

  I forced my attention back to the stone wall before me, covered in bizarre carvings. These twisted symbols, like a silent language, spoke of the village's forgotten, terrifying secrets. I had to record them quickly, gather as many clues as possible.

  I raised my camera again, aimed it at the wall, finger poised on the shutter, trying to push the sudden fright from my mind. I focused intently, adjusting the lens, searching for the best angle to perfectly capture the details and texture of the carvings. The wall was cold and rough, the carvings deep, carrying a chilling aura steeped in age. Fog swirled around the wall, the dim light adding an extra layer of malevolence to the already eerie symbols.

  Just as I was fully immersed in shooting, holding my breath, about to press the shutter—an extremely intense feeling, like sharp thorns pricking my back, struck again!

  This time, it wasn't a sound, but... a gaze!

  A cold, heavy gaze, seemingly capable of piercing the thick fog and my clothes, reaching right down to my marrow, was fixed on me from somewhere, completely undisguised!

  The feeling was so real and potent, entirely different from the ethereal sound earlier. It was like an icy searchlight, pinning me firmly in place, rendering me immobile. My scalp tingled, a chill shooting down my spine.

  I snapped my head up, heart nearly stopping, looking towards the direction the gaze originated from.

  Not far away, perhaps ten meters or so, stood a figure in the doorway of an old mud-brick house that appeared slightly more "intact" than the surrounding ruins.

  It was... an old person.

  An old person so ancient they seemed to have surpassed the boundaries of time. He (or she? It was hard to tell from the figure) was hunched over, short and withered, like a dried tree stump. Dressed in deep blue homespun clothes, faded and patched beyond recognition, the trouser cuffs stained with damp mud.

  Their hair was sparse and grey-white, like winter weeds clinging messily to the scalp. Their face was a dense network of deep, chiseled wrinkles, crisscrossing like countless years of hardship and suffering recorded. Their skin had the texture of old tree bark, a deep brown, stretched tautly over cheekbones and jaw, making their face look exceptionally gaunt, almost... menacing.

  What struck me most were the eyes. Deep-set sockets, eyelids drooping slackly, pupils cloudy like they were veiled with a greyish film. Yet, these seemingly dull, lifeless eyes now projected an abnormal, heart-stopping light—not the vibrancy of life, but a cold, hollow emptiness, as if seeing through all illusions yet indifferent to everything.

  They just stood there, silently, motionlessly, in the dim doorway, body slightly stooped, like an ancient statue forgotten in a corner of time, perfectly merging with the decaying house, the swirling fog, and the entire dead village. As if they were inherently part of this place, a spirit birthed by this land to watch over decay and death.

  The cold, heavy gaze from moments ago undoubtedly came from them!

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  My mind reeled.

  Fengmen Village... still had living inhabitants?!

  The thought struck like lightning, instantly cutting through the chaos in my mind. All previous speculations and fears seemed to find an anchor at this moment. But what followed wasn't relief, but a deeper, complex emotion mixing surprise, doubt, and fear.

  Who were they? Why did they remain in this long-abandoned, supposedly cursed village? Were they the legendary "village guardians"? Or... an outsider trapped here, like me? Or... something else, even more incomprehensible?

  I stood rooted, facing the old person from afar, momentarily unsure how to react. Should I flee immediately? Or... approach and ask?

  A journalist's instinct ultimately overcame fear. This old person was undoubtedly key to unlocking Fengmen Village's secrets! Whoever they were, they must know something!

  I composed myself, forcing down the fear and agitation in my heart, slowly lowering the wooden stick (but still gripping the trekking pole), and tentatively walked towards them.

  My steps were slow, light, trying not to make much noise, projecting an image of harmlessness. With each step closer, I could feel the chilling, deathly aura emanating from them more clearly, an aura that didn't seem to belong to the living.

  "Sir (or Ma'am? I still couldn't tell)... Hello." I stopped about three or four meters away, trying to make my voice sound gentle and polite, though it was strained with tension. "I... I'm a journalist, my name is Li Xue. I came here to... understand the situation of this village, to document things, I mean no harm."

  I watched them nervously, hoping to see some normal human reaction—curiosity, vigilance, even annoyance.

  But there was none.

  The old person's face remained expressionless, like a dried mask. Those cloudy eyes shifted slowly, almost mechanically, scanning past me without focus, as if I were merely air, or an insignificant stone.

  Just as I thought they wouldn't respond and was about to speak again, their cracked, bark-like lips twitched slightly.

  An extremely hoarse, dry voice, as if the vocal cords had rusted long ago, squeezed out from deep within their throat. The sound was so low it was almost inaudible, thick with an almost unintelligible local dialect.

  "...Out... outsider..."

  I held my breath, straining to listen.

  "...Leave... quickly..."

  Their voice was intermittent, each word seeming to take all their strength.

  "...Sky... dark..."

  "...Door... will... close..."

  "...Cannot... leave..."

  The few broken words struck my heart like cold pebbles. Despite the difficult accent and fragmented sentences, I grasped the meaning—they were warning me! Warning me to leave quickly! Warning me that after dark, the "door" would close, and there would be no way out!

  "Door?" I asked instinctively, "What door? The village entrance? Or..."

  My question received no response.

  After uttering those few broken phrases, the old person fell back into that deathly silence. Their cloudy gaze shifted away from my face, staring emptily into the distance, towards the thick, eerie fog, as if seeing something I couldn't. Their body trembled slightly, perhaps from cold, or... fear?

  Then, extremely slowly, they turned. Their hunched body resembled a wilting leaf. Dragging heavy feet that seemed filled with lead, they shuffled step by agonizing step into the dark, decaying house behind them.

  "Creeeak—"

  A long, piercing screech sounded as the dilapidated, cracked wooden door was slowly pulled shut from the inside. In the final moment before the gap disappeared, I thought I saw their cloudy eyes glance at me coldly one last time through the crack.

  Then, with a soft clunk, the door... seemed to be bolted from within.

  Everything returned to silence.

  Leaving me alone, standing frozen, hands and feet cold, mind in turmoil.

  The old person's appearance and words were like a boulder dropped into the already troubled waters of my heart, stirring even more violent waves.

  They were indeed alive and seemed fully aware of the dangers in this village. Their warning was so direct, so urgent—after dark, the "door" closes, trapping anyone inside!

  But what exactly was the "door"? A physical village gate? Or some supernatural boundary? What happens after dark? Why don't they leave themselves? Are they trapped here? Like those who disappeared according to legends? Or... are they part of the horror itself? A "watcher" guarding the curse, or perhaps enforcing it?

  Countless questions tangled in my brain like rapidly growing vines, making me feel dizzy and suffocated.

  I looked again at the closed, dilapidated wooden door. Mottled wood, also bearing some strange talismans, though fewer than on the temple wall. Behind it lay boundless darkness and the unknown. The withered old person hid behind that darkness, like a riddle, a living, breathing horror.

  I felt a strong impulse to knock, to demand more answers, to pry open their sealed lips and extract all the secrets of Fengmen Village.

  But ultimately, I restrained myself.

  The look in the old person's eyes, their raspy voice, the inhuman coldness emanating from them—all instilled a deep, soul-chilling sense of danger. My intuition screamed that forcing contact was not wise. It might... lead to even more terrifying consequences.

  I took several deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down. At least, I had confirmed a few things: first, Fengmen Village wasn't entirely empty; second, there was indeed some great danger associated with nightfall; third, the carvings and talismans on the walls were definitely not meaningless.

  I glanced again at the temple wall covered in eerie carvings, then at the closed wooden door hiding its enigma. Fear remained, but the journalist's curiosity and desire for truth grew stronger, pushing back against the fear.

  I took out my recorder, documenting the encounter with the old person and their disturbing warning. Then, I decided to temporarily leave this oppressive central area of the village. I would explore other parts, perhaps find different clues, or maybe... find that reckless young couple whose fate was unknown.

  I turned and slowly walked away from the eerie temple and the closed wooden door, step by step. With every step, I felt that cold gaze still following me, like a shadow.

  The thick fog lingered, the dead silence reigned。