Hangfang looks at the map in the second interval to keep going to get to the black seed location. He is working it all out in his head, every single possible path, every localized barrier that might stand between him and his goal. But as he nears his destination he spots a sizable crowd gathered at the edge of a cliff, their eyes glued to something in the distance. Their muffled whispers convey both fear and excitement.
Out of curiosity, Hangfang steps over and asks, "What's going on? What the hell is everyone doing just standing here?"
One man steps forward, his face grim. "This is a very unstable mountain where the Black Seeds are. The weather is constantly blowing in different directions and the wind currents here are odd—they're not conducive to flying." To make matters worse, natural disasters happen all of the time, making it impossible to cross it on foot. Rockslides, sudden storms and violent tremors can hit at any time. There are many traps along the way, and every didact who tried to get to the seeds has died. That's why no one has the guts to go there. "With alien traps, it's always an uncertainty, and that's why everyone is kind of waiting on the precipice for a specific moment when the traps most likely turn off or a weakness in the trap is exposed so that they can safely move forward."
Hangfang's face is unreadable as he listens. He looks above the crowd, eyeing the towering mountain ahead. Ragged cliffs, writhing fog and the ominous wailing of the wind make for a menacing scene. Unlike the rest who linger at the boundary, he acts swiftly. He doesn't say a word, but starts scrambling up a nearby peak for a better view.
The wind shrieks around him, fraying at the edges of his cloak as he squints against the gale. He sits on a rocky ledge scanning the area before him. He studies closely and looks for patterns, weaknesses and anything that would give him an edge. He mutters to himself: "This is just like an unsolvable riddle…
When this approach finally bears fruit, he sees that air in that field is wavy, changing, as if everything was covered with an invisible i-net stretched all over the field. These unseen ripples shimmer faintly in the moonlight, nearly indistinguishable to the untrained eye. He learns that the traps trigger immediately and begin to rain down fire whenever an animal or some creature approaches him too quickly. Nobody enjoys the overrun but you can set traps for the entire area's death, from spikes to sudden energy spikes.
"The traps are not merely mechanized," Hangfang says. "They respond to movement, to presence itself."
With firm intensity, Hangfang struggles to locate the originating source of the waves. But after a few minutes of watching, he identifies the source: a knobbly, old tree perched next to the mouth of a cave. This tree, unlike the static greenery surrounding it, pulsates with life, its roots pulsating with an otherworldly glow. The waves appear to be emanating from inside the cave, expanding and twisting outward like an invisible web.
As night descends and the world drifts to sleep, Hangfang goes. Dressed in black, he hides in the dark, operating with the speed of a ghost. Every footfall is precision, evading loose stones and unseen traps. He walks towards the cave, steadying his breathing. The tree's ghostlight pulsates as he nears, matching the swelling of the waves.
He quickly targets the root of the waves, and the once sieging waves become deafly silent. As soon as the energy disappears, the whole environment shifts — the irregular weather becomes eerily calm, and the traps no longer react to small disturbances.
Spotting this opportunity, he quickly heads towards the Black Seeds. As he walks ever closer, the shaking aura of the seeds thrums with power, life, insistence. In the moonlight their jet-black surfaces glisten, as though whispering to him. He sees faint traces of footsteps in the dust, evidence that others had made it this far before — but none returned. The thought hovers in the back of his head, but he does not hold back.
Beneath the tingling of fear that tired to haggle at its realist the back of his neck he collected his portion of the seeds with care, ensuring no signs that he was ever on the mark. He relieves the tension in the room and resets the traps; it returns to its deadly original state as he walks out. To make sure no one else follows it, he sets fire to the vegetation. The fire spread rapidly, casting flickering shadows across the outcrops. The dry branches ignite immediately, launching embers up into the night sky. Hangfang turns, and the distant fire glints in his cold eyes.
He doesn't linger to see the devastation unfold. His mission is complete. And he picks up the pace, becoming a shadow in the smoke and the night.
As he's about to leave, a figure emerges from the gloom. Hangfang watches as his steps falter, sharp instincts kicking in to recognize Yan Xiao from afar.
Yan Xiao sneers, arms folded across her chest. "I was expecting you. But I have to confess, I expected you to fall into my traps more easily."
Hangfang chuckles, his face inscrutable. "I felt like the trap had been intentionally set. The seeds were left entirely bare — there were hardly any defenses surrounding them. That was too suspicious."
The sound of distant voices grows louder before their conversation can proceed. Footfalls come whose owner has been waiting, waiting for this, the right time.
"This place is getting crowded," Yan Xiao says, his expression darkening. Let's go somewhere else to talk."
Then he makes a gesture toward a specific spot, and his body fades away. Hangfang, knowing the technique, follows suit and disapp
ears all the way up into the hidden space too.
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