Chapter One: Standoff at the Precipice
The lines of the distant mountains soak into the mist-a few strokes of wet, light ink. Looking downward, the brushwork turns cold and hard: a factory pulses deep within the rock face, its chimneys spitting white smoke.
The mechanical giant's cranium is a sudden, jarring peak; its neck, a vertical cliff. The bolts at its joints protrude like boulders, and beneath its armor lies a row of pitch-black cannon barrels. Something swells within its body, pressure rising; it needs to prey upon the very source of this landscape.
Two soldiers stand before the giant, the two sides locked in a standoff. Within the holes of the soldiers' shields, creatures resembling both fish and birds peck at rust spots. Their knuckles turn white beneath their armor; cracks have already splintered the edges of their shields.
"Hold on," the soldier on the left murmurs; the soldier on the right thrusts his shield heavily into the ground. Behind them lies the city of elves, exquisite and translucent, like fragile crystal.
The waterfall roars between them. Water droplets splash onto the giant's cannons and freeze into ice; they fall upon the shields and turn to steam. Their opposing shadows cast upon the cliff face, gradually merging with the Cun texture of the rocks-as if they were two sides of the same crack.
Chapter Two: The Spirit Ruins of Overlapping Peaks
Behind the soldiers is a set of layered mountain cities. Looking closely, it resembles a multi-story playground; the floorboards are pitch black, matching the sharpness and hardness of the "axe-cut" Cun texture.
The floors connect level by level, with ladders or escalators standing precariously between them. Many creatures like fish and birds dwell here; they are called "Little Fish-People."
The fish-people go about their lives, their behaviors harmless yet somewhat absurd: one piles sand in a flowerpot and sits in silent meditation beside it; another runs while holding a scepter; others swim or lie within tents. Oil lamps and crystal balls are scattered throughout the city, their pulsing light like a breath or a display of connection status. The entire structure floats in mid-air, surely supported by some invisible force.
Clearly, they draw energy from the waterfall and the rocks, or rather, the life of the entire lower realm sustains them: the grand soldiers, the human villages, and the behemoths within the red earth all transfer most of their life to this city. Yet, the city is entirely unaware of the danger afar; its inherent lightness and transparency seem to be its duty and responsibility.
Chapter Three: The Armored Sacred Mountain
Another great mountain looms over.
He is clad in granite armor, the spikes on his shoulders piercing the sky, condensing eons of earthquakes, tsunamis, and hurricanes. His face is gaunt, wearing a Gothic mask; we cannot see his gaze.
He is a knight, bearing faith and another mission. His arms are powerful, his joints turning with difficulty through the interlocking of vines and gears, already overburdened.
Faith, too, is overburdened. Upon his shoulders rests a sanctuary, with long staircases and dim chandeliers; saints still face away from the world, ascending step by step; monks still scratch away with their pens under oil lamps, legends falling away like withered leaves.
He has never approached the mountain city. He leans neither toward slaughter nor toward salvation.
This is the truth he has not wanted to admit for millennia: when a temple rises from the ground and faith hardens into life's armor, is he protecting divinity or imprisoning the soul?
Chapter Four: The Floating Vessel in the Deep Valley
The flattened cliff transforms into a silent spacecraft.
The deck is empty, but fluorescent veins pulse in the night. The mottled cockpit is like a detached head, detecting the various tensions around it. Its existence is a phantom, yet it seems to be the solution to all conflicts: ultimate technology, subtle simulation, and the ambition of ascension.
In the center, a few ancient trees stand solitary. Their crowns twist into the tentacles of a giant octopus, soft tendrils writhing in the wind toward an unknown abyss. Other trees transform into mechanical cities of the steam age, gears turning, chimneys exhaling rust-colored mist; or they become hideous mechanical monsters with hollow eyes, wielding rusted claws in the void: they lost in the struggles of the previous era and are now gradually descending, sinking.
Beneath the left cliff, a hidden village huddles in the shadows, lights like fireflies. Villagers whisper by the hearth, guarding the last sparks of mortal life, like a remnant dream trying to linger through great change. Do they sense the surveillance from above? Do they see the mutation of the trees? They can neither rise nor descend, like a solitary boat in a torrent; a life on thin ice is their destiny.
Chapter Five: The Stone Guardians of the Abyss
The waterfall forms a pool of water, mist-shrouded.
Three pale boulders stand by the water like three crouching beasts-tiger-like yet not tigers, lion-like yet not lions, their bodies carved with ancient runes left by geological shifts. Amidst the swirling mist, they support towering trees, gazing coldly at the stream, secretly guarding the downstream village. People there are caught between great changes, at a loss, yet showing a lingering resilience-deep in their blood, there is still ancient power supporting them.
These beasts are the embodiment of primitive power, like the foundation of vigorous Cun brushwork, seeping layer by layer into the veins of the earth. They lie dormant in the darkness of the subconscious, instinctively maintaining balance. People occasionally wake in the night, catching a glimpse of a beastly shadow, feeling it is a fragment of a dream, unable to recall its outline. But they are the trump cards in human hands; once manifested in consciousness, the trajectory of fate will change.
On the other side of the pool, a person sits on a stone.
He is outside this world: gods and men, beasts and elves, faith and disillusionment, hiding and manifesting, all seem to have nothing to do with him, yet all gain a position because of him. This outsider-through observation he creates opposition, and through the change of perspective, he understands it all.
Sighing, he says:
