Eighty-Seven transformed from his usual jovial, small-time vendor demeanor. He directed Thirty-Eight to drive, while he himself came over to urge us to be extremely careful, then turned to speak with Zhuoma Yangjin with utmost deference, not daring to show the slightest disrespect.

Zhuoma Yangjin leaned against me without hesitation. The vehicle was already crowded, but her body pressed close to mine. Even through our clothes, I could feel the heat and warmth emanating from her. However, I knew that she was merely clinging to the chance to be with me for one second more, one second at a time. In the end, this would all be over. If, by some miracle, none of us died, she would have to return to her life as the Princess of Guge, the Queen of Guge, and I would obediently go back to being a technical cadre—perhaps getting a promotion in a year or two, or being transferred elsewhere. But no matter what, a life together was impossible for us.

Zhuoma Yangjin also seriously answered some of Eighty-Seven’s rather peculiar questions, occasionally turning to me and asking, "Luo Lian, do you think so?" or, "Luo Lian, what’s your take?" Simultaneously, she solicited opinions from Old Li and Forty-Three, demonstrating great social skill; no one felt overlooked or excluded.

Yet, after much debate, opinions varied widely, making it difficult to ascertain the truth behind the Stone Buddha’s tears. According to Eighty-Seven, black tears constantly streamed from the statue, and the strangest part was that the tears always followed the exact same path down, slowly tracing the stone face until not a single trace remained, at which point new tears would begin to flow.

Some suggested it was groundwater, but the braver among them approached the statue for a closer look, only to find not a single bead of moisture. Furthermore, anyone who went came back feeling inexplicably unwell somewhere on their body, plagued by a clammy sensation. Some even developed baffling small, red rashes that itched so fiercely they felt like digging out their own internal organs. Worse still, some solemnly swore they felt worms crawling inside their blood vessels, yet hospital examinations revealed absolutely nothing abnormal. This only increased the mounting panic.

At first, everyone assumed it was the wrath of a deity and dared not slacken. They quickly gathered nearby residents to burn incense and pray to the Buddha, which brought a period of relative peace. Who knew that today, a Snow Demon would suddenly appear? Everyone finally believed that disaster was imminent, which is why they had fled in such a hurry.

Tang Minghao also stated that he had urged them forward in a panic precisely because he felt the killing intent brought by the Snow Demon so intensely, fearing they would suffer losses.

I felt it too. Closer, closer. The Snow Demon must be waiting for us not far ahead.

As for the weeping Stone Buddha, the only certainty was that a statue must have existed there previously, hidden by vegetation and growth, but now uncovered simply because the covering was gone.

After much discussion, no definitive conclusion was reached, and I could offer no logical explanation either. I could only repeatedly warn Zhuoma Yangjin, Wangmu, and Old Li to be extremely careful.

The SUV began to bump violently. Once we left the urban area of Nyingchi and drove deeper into the mountains, the road conditions worsened. That icy killing intent felt like it could extinguish us at any moment, invisibly. My heart lodged itself in my throat and refused to descend. It wasn't just the Snow Demon; it was the road—the damned road. Those who haven't personally navigated the Tibetan mountains cannot know how treacherous the paths are. In many sections, people had to use hands and feet just to scramble up a nearly vertical slope, and these places were rife with latent, fatal dangers.

Shortly after the vehicle turned off a dirt road, we reached its end. A vast mountain range, seemingly endless and topping out beyond sight, stretched before us. This place was unlike other desolate areas; it wasn't just one bare mountain. Here, the vegetation was lush, winding, and steep. Occasionally, a small path, marked by human passage, emerged halfway up the slope, testifying to the hardiness and bravery of the local residents.

Eighty-Seven made everyone get out of the car, then pointed at me and stated, each word emphasized, "Luo Lian, from now on, you—will lead the way."

I blinked, then instantly understood. Yes, I was different from them. I possessed a peculiar sense of familiarity with this place, a gift bestowed by memories whose origins I couldn't trace.

"Alright."

The mountain looked close, but the journey to it required some distance. A few scattered households stood at the foot of the mountain, all shuttered and empty. Guiding them relied not on a compass, but on a feeling—an aura of familiarity pulling me forward. Though this aura felt as terrifying as death itself, it was our inescapable destination.

Zhuoma Yangjin stayed right behind me, Wangmu followed her, and Eighty-Seven and the other two brought up the rear, while Old Li and Tang Minghao protected the two women.

However, we were too tense. Although the terrifying aura grew nearer, every time we seemed about to reach it, it would abruptly recede far away again. It was like this the entire way, as if we were being lured somewhere so they could sweep us all up in one net.

I tried my best to appear relaxed, taking a deep breath, but the breath that came in seemed impossible to expel. Everyone was silent. There wasn't even the sound of insects or birds—utter stillness, where even the sound of breathing felt jarring.

We passed the few farmhouses at the base of the mountain; no sign of life. The familiar aura grew stronger. That's right, further up, on the mountain—it was on this mountain, not far now.

Eighty-Seven followed me without question, placing an unreserved trust in me.

The Nyingchi forest was dense and oxygen-rich, and the altitude was relatively lower, saving considerable energy for the climb. Once we officially started ascending this unnamed mountain, a strange calm settled over me, like encountering an old friend again. Even though the aura grew more intense, completely enveloping us, the internal feeling was one of peace.

The mountain path was very steep. I led the way and could no longer pay special attention to Zhuoma Yangjin. Fortunately, she wasn't a delicate young lady; otherwise, I truly wouldn't know how I would manage to look after her. Along the path, new sprouts of grass, fresh and green, occasionally emerged. As I walked, the wind stirred them, making the tender shoots nod and bow timidly. Seeing this, my heart finally relaxed completely.

"It's fine now, nothing to worry about. Everyone, don't be so tense," I called back to the group. "Perhaps that Snow Demon just wanted to lure us here. There’s no killing intent here."

Zhuoma Yangjin immediately and firmly denied my statement, gasping for breath, "No. I feel thick with killing intent here, Luo Lian. You mustn't let your guard down. Trust me, my intuition is sharper than yours."

Eighty-Seven, perhaps fearing an argument between us, quickly interjected, "In any case, better safe than sorry. Caution is paramount." He had completely lost his earlier small-vendor mannerisms.

I couldn't explain my sudden sense of calm either, so I didn't press the issue. Eighty-Seven was right; caution was the best policy in all matters.

Climbing further, fatigue finally set in. Two or three forks appeared to our side: one leading directly to the summit, another that looked long abandoned, and a small path to the right that was worn white and shiny from frequent use, even showing fresh footprints.

Without thinking, I naturally followed the path that showed the most traffic; it should be relatively safer.

I relied entirely on intuition to guide the way; the burden on my shoulders was heavy, and I dared not make any mistakes, especially concerning Zhuoma Yangjin. She was both the Princess and the King of Guge; nothing could go wrong with her. Thus, I reiterated my instructions to Old Li and Tang Minghao, insisting they look after her.

The two assured me they would, and only then did I lead them onto the narrow, winding path to the right.

This path was indeed one frequently traveled by people. It was so narrow only one person could fit, but thankfully, the sides were lined with vegetation, preventing a fatal tumble if one slipped. Moreover, its gradient was gentler, allowing us to keep an eye on each other as we walked in single file.

Feeling relatively calm now, less anxious than before, I tried to find things to say to ease everyone else’s fear. No one replied. After a couple of attempts, feeling a bit pointless, I suddenly heard faint sounds of percussion instruments in my ear—a very rough and simple sound of drums, accompanied by cymbals, playing in tandem. At first, it sounded quite lively, but listening closer, there was an underlying tone of supplication.

I froze. I didn’t know much about Tibetan opera; everything I knew came from those inexplicable memories. "Listen, can you hear the drums and cymbals of Tibetan opera?"

Hearing me say this, everyone stopped and listened intently. After a moment, disappointment surfaced on everyone’s faces. They claimed they heard nothing, yet I heard it clearly, like a distant, fine steel wire slowly approaching my ears—impossible to evade.

"Yangjin, you don't hear it either?" I hoped she might be different, with more acute hearing.

Zhuoma Yangjin’s expression grew grave, and she slowly shook her head. Wangmu interjected, "It’s not the time for Tibetan opera, you…" Zhuoma Yangjin shot her a look, and Wangmu immediately fell silent, looking down at the ground in frustration.

When I asked them to listen again, they still heard nothing. It must be a unique ability of mine; that was the only way I could currently convince myself.

There was no turning back; we continued forward. Despite this strange event, I felt an inexplicable sense of peace, like a long-wandering traveler nearing home—a strange sense of security.

The drums and cymbals maintained a constant, distant volume, never fluctuating as we walked for five hundred meters. I began to suspect it was merely a hallucination.

Simultaneously, an intensely strong surge of killing intent rushed straight at my face. By reflex, I shouted and flung myself sideways. The movement was too abrupt; my foot slipped on empty air, and I tumbled toward the roadside. Luckily, sturdy vegetation broke my fall, preventing me from tumbling down the mountain. Even so, a cold sweat broke out, and my heart hammered against my ribs.

Zhuoma Yangjin reacted fastest. The moment I fell, she shrieked and ran over, "Luo Lian, Luo Lian!" Her voice trembled with nervousness as she desperately pulled me up. "Luo Lian, Luo Lian."

Eighty-Seven and Forty-Three immediately rushed over to help me up, asking in confusion, "What happened?"

I tested my leg; it was fine, thankfully. "A wave of killing intent just charged right at me," I said, still shaken. "Something’s happening here. Everyone be careful."

Wangmu muttered, "It can’t be as supernatural as you say; I haven't felt a thing."

Looking at the others’ faces, they seemed to think I was making a fuss. They had sensed nothing unusual. I could only offer a wry smile internally, wave my hand, and urge everyone to proceed with caution, deciding not to explain further.

When that wave of killing intent passed, the drums and cymbals near my ears vanished for a moment, then immediately resumed, continuously beckoning me forward. Let’s go, then, I thought, perhaps I was just overly nervous.

Brushing the dirt off myself, I continued to lead them down the winding path. Zhuoma Yangjin remained close behind me, insisting she stay near in case anything happened to me. In reality, having Eighty-Seven and the others behind me increased the safety coefficient by dozens of levels, but I couldn't refuse her kind intention.

While lost in thought, a tall, white shadow suddenly lunged diagonally in front of me. I shouted and instinctively fired a shot in its direction.