In the mid-1980s, in some obscure, small nation.

Deep within a valley far from the city center, a white structure was nestled among dense green trees and vibrant red blossoms.

Inside the building, in a laboratory, a middle-aged man with mousy brown hair and blue eyes, possessing a somewhat sinister appearance, was intensely focused on an experiment he called "In Vitro Fertilization Combined Embryo Transfer Surgery."

With extreme care, he used an incredibly fine dropper to inject two drops of an unknown substance into a glass test tube. He observed the mixture with complete concentration, nodded in satisfaction, and then gingerly placed the test tube into a constant-temperature incubator. He then moved to the laboratory desk and began writing rapidly.

Three days later, several armed men, fully equipped with weapons but whose affiliation was unclear, escorted five or six doctors clad in white coats and face masks, pushing a gurney toward the laboratory. Leading the procession was the brown-haired, blue-eyed man.

Upon reaching the laboratory door, the man signaled the escorts to halt. He then entered the lab with the white-coated attendants pushing the gurney. The door immediately shut behind them, and the armed men positioned themselves in front, blocking any entry or exit.

Bound to the gurney was a woman of voluptuous figure. She was completely naked, her wide, blue-gray eyes reflecting endless terror. Her long eyelashes trembled almost imperceptibly, her high, firm breasts rose and fell violently, and her long, tawny-brown hair was haphazardly draped over her shoulders. Her lips were devoid of color, her mouth agape but utterly silent.

The brown-haired, blue-eyed man scrutinized her face for several minutes, then lewdly touched her high, full, soft flesh a few times. He shook his head, gave a sinister smile, donned a pair of surgical gloves, and turned to open the incubator containing the test tube.

Suddenly, the man staggered back several steps, an expression of utter disbelief on his face, staring in horror at the incubator—as he opened it, a wisp of splendid, colored smoke slowly drifted out. The colored smoke intensified, growing from thin to thick, wispy and ethereal, appearing incredibly bizarre yet magnificent.

The white-coated figures also witnessed this phenomenon. They stood with mouths agape, seemingly frozen, watching the smoke grow denser and more voluminous.

The colored smoke circled the woman on the gurney several times before expanding rapidly, instantly enveloping the entire laboratory in its strange, vibrant haze. Everyone in the room stood silently within the smoke, no one making a sound.

The colored smoke persisted for about ten minutes before slowly dissipating.

The brown-haired, blue-eyed man snapped back to reality as if waking from a deep sleep. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow and furiously directed the dumbfounded doctors to prepare for surgery. He himself went to retrieve the test tube from the incubator, glanced at it with trepidation a few times, and then joined the others in tending to the woman on the gurney.

What none of them could have anticipated was that, in a large tree outside the lab, a pair of fiercely gleaming eyes were coldly observing everything that transpired.

In the blink of an eye, eight months had passed.

The time was late autumn; fiery red maple leaves danced everywhere in the breeze. The gentle sunlight warmed the secluded valley, occasionally punctuated by crisp bird calls that created an atmosphere of profound stillness—The cicadas’ clamor only deepens the forest's quiet; the birds’ chirping only amplifies the mountain’s solitude. In the artificial lake before the white building, several snow-white wild ducks played and chased each other contentedly, stretching the sunlight reflected on the water into myriad golden ribbons that swam gently with the ripples.

However, this poetic, harmonious scene was suddenly shattered by a series of piercing female screams!

In another room within the white structure, a scene of utter carnage unfolded. On a blood-spattered operating table, the woman from the gurney eight months prior lay naked. Her face was ashen, the upper half of her body a frightening, ghastly white, and blood surged from her abdomen like a spring.

Her stomach had been cut open. A severed umbilical cord, twisted and gnarled, lay across her torn and bloody belly. Through the opening, one could vaguely discern her internal organs, already ripped apart. Blood poured ceaselessly from the incision and from her lower body, flowing onto the operating table, then seeping through the white sheets to the floor, gathering into serpentine rivers of blood that filled the room with a nauseating stench. Scattered on the floor were numerous smeared footprints, receding from near to far, fading from deep red to pale.

The woman twitched occasionally, her breath shallow. Her pupils, gradually dilating, stared at the ceiling—it was clear she would not survive.

Following the lines of bloody footprints, one could see several figures in white surrounding a tall, long-nosed old man whose hair and beard were streaked with gray. They were silently looking at a large glass jar resting on the laboratory bench by the window. The jar contained more than half a volume of a translucent fluid of unknown origin, in which a newborn female infant was suspended. The infant was curled up, her tiny feet kicking unconsciously, only her small head visible above the fluid. Her eyes were neither fully open nor fully closed, and her little mouth, marked with spots of blood, weakly fluttered.

Since the infant had just been born, her body retained a faint pink hue. As the intense sunlight passed through the glass and shone upon her, a ring of kaleidoscopic light encircled the baby.

No one spoke; the only sound was the drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the floor. Silence reigned supreme.

After a long moment, the old man waved a hand. One person stepped forward carefully to rotate the glass jar—this individual was the brown-haired, blue-eyed man.

As the jar turned, the white-clad figures suddenly widened their eyes in terror, exchanging startled glances. The old man, however, smiled faintly with undisguised pleasure and nodded.

While these individuals remained motionless, each experiencing their own distinct emotion, staring at the immense glass jar, a tall, powerful black hound, enveloped in a fierce vortex, shot in like lightning through the open window, violently knocking over the jar containing the infant. The bottle crashed to the table with a shattering sound, spilling the unknown fluid everywhere. The hound did not pause; opening its blood-red jaws, it snatched the kitten-like infant in its mouth, pivoted, kicked off with its hind legs, and vanished out the window with a whoosh—the entire sequence unfolding in the blink of an eye.

Chaos erupted in the room. The old man, furious, slapped the brown-haired, blue-eyed man across the face. He rushed to the window, craned his neck out, then spun around, grabbing a white-coated figure following closely behind him, and shoved him out the window before leaping out himself.

The other white-coated attendants scrambled in panic toward the doorway. The brown-haired, blue-eyed man, clutching his face, also rushed toward the exit, only to violently collide with the operating table. With a loud crash, the long-dead woman on the table tumbled into the pool of blood. As the table fell, it tripped the brown-haired, blue-eyed man. He cried out, lost control, and fell into the gore. His hideous face landed directly opposite the woman's pale countenance. Covered in filthy blood, the man looked up just as the woman seemed to grin at him with a chilling smile. Terrified, he shrieked, dragged his leg, and stumbled toward the door.

Sounds of running, shouting, and harsh commands erupted. The formerly tranquil valley was instantly filled with clamor. The wild ducks in the artificial lake, confused, scattered and flapped wildly, and even the gentle sunlight seemed to be torn to shreds by the noise.

The old man, having jumped from the window, landed squarely on the first white-coated man, eliciting a cry of pain. The old man glared angrily and delivered a savage kick to the man's head. Without breaking stride, he raced after the hound, which was zigzagging wildly.

The black hound ran like lightning; carrying the infant in its mouth did nothing to impede its speed. Seeing that he couldn't catch up, the old man swiftly pulled a pistol from his coat and aimed maliciously at the hound. Bang! The bullet grazed the infant and struck a rock. The black hound paid it no mind, gave a swift sizzle, and vanished into the thick undergrowth.

By this time, the other white-coated men had caught up, along with several fully armed personnel. The brown-haired, blue-eyed man limped over to the old man. Before he could steady himself, the old man slapped him again, hard, making him stumble and nearly fall.

The old man surveyed the terrain, gestured to his men, and they began to surround the area where the hound had disappeared in a wide arc. The spot where the hound vanished turned out to be a concave gorge, flanked on three sides by sheer, vertical cliffs. Seeing this, the old man signaled his men to search meticulously.

As this happened, the previously clear sky began to fill with dark clouds, and the daylight gradually faded. A chilly autumn wind swept through the vegetation, lending a bleak, desolate atmosphere to the surroundings.

The sky grew darker, and faint thunder rumbled overhead.

The search party moved slowly, not missing a single corner, advancing steadily. The old man, seeing no results, signaled them to stop and listen intently. But aside from the rustling of the wind through the brush and the distant thunder, there was no sound of the infant or the hound.

Just as they were about to reach the sheer cliff face directly opposite the exit, there was still no sign of the infant or the dog. The old man grew anxious and urged the group forward toward the precipice.

With a flash of lightning, they saw the black hound, still clutching the infant, its front paws planted on the cliff face, climbing desperately upward. In the flashes of lightning, one could make out the startling white marks the dog's claws were gouging into the rock.

Sensing imminent danger, the black hound climbed more frantically. Horrifying, grating sounds accompanied the tracks its claws scraped onto the hard rock face, streaks of blood mixing terrifyingly with the claw marks.

Realizing it could not scale the cliff, the hound retreated a few steps, still holding the infant. It reared back, pushed off with its hind legs, and sprang upward like a bolt of lightning, scrambling four or five meters up the rock face with all four paws. But although the cliff had some slope, it was impossibly smooth and steep, offering no handholds. The black hound slowly slid back down the rock face, yet it did not give up, throwing itself at the cliff again and again. Soon, deep bloody streaks marred the rock surface.

The old man rejoiced at the sight and signaled his men to slowly close in on the hound. Seeing the situation, the hound abandoned its attempt to climb. It turned, its eyes radiating anger and sorrow, silently facing the several black muzzles aimed at it.

The old man signaled his men not to fire, presumably fearing they might harm the infant. The men reluctantly gripped their rifles by the barrels, their eyes gleaming with fierce intent, and began to close in on the hound, intending to deliver a fatal blow.

With another blinding flash of lightning, the black hound suddenly charged toward the old man. It lowered its head and shot through the old man's legs like lightning, instantly vanishing back into the deepening night.

In the instant the old man looked down, he saw the infant open her wide eyes and smile coldly at him, her small mouth curved. A white-coated man, seeing this, instinctively pulled the trigger. Boom! The bullet whistled and buried itself in his own body.

At that very moment, the torrential rain finally began to fall in earnest.

Outside the cave, lightning flashed and thunder roared; inside, the oil lamp burned dimly.

Strictly speaking, this was merely a hollow in a tree—a hollow roughly three feet square.

A ragged old monk sat cross-legged facing the entrance of the tree hollow, a small oil lamp casting a faint, bean-sized glow beside him. The fierce autumn wind, carrying cold rain, occasionally gusted in, threatening to extinguish the flame. For some unknown reason, despite the strong wind, the lamp stubbornly refused to go out.

With the intermittent flashes of lightning, the monk's skeletal silhouette was cast upon the damp, gloomy walls of the hollow, flickering like a ghost. The deafening thunder seemed to explode right above the treetop, exuding an aura of absolute dominance and defiance.

The old monk fingered his prayer beads, remaining utterly still, appearing solemn and composed, radiating a sense of peace.

The thunder grew louder with each peal, and lightning followed in rapid succession.

"What must come will eventually arrive!" After a long silence, the old monk sighed deeply, his graying beard trembling slightly. The strips of his frayed cassock fluttered in the wind.

Before the sigh had fully faded, the black hound, soaking wet and carrying the infant, bolted in.

"Alas—!" The old monk sighed deeply again. He shifted his leg, turned around, and his fiercely gleaming eyes fixed upon the black hound.

The hound, exhausted from its prolonged, strenuous run, appeared on the verge of collapse, staggering and faltering. Water streamed constantly from its soaked coat, dripping rhythmically and quickly forming a puddle on the ground, within which bloody streaks snaked like small serpents.

The infant in the hound's mouth was also drenched. Rainwater trickled down her tiny body. The infant's skin was no longer the pink of a newborn but a uniform bluish-white; her lips were dark, and her small hands and feet were tightly drawn in. She made no sound; it was unclear if she was dead or alive.

The hound staggered a couple of steps forward and presented the infant in its mouth to the monk. The monk slowly extended a withered hand and accepted the baby. Using the faint light of the lamp and the glare of the lightning, he carefully examined the infant. The baby’s delicate body bore no serious wounds, only a few shallow marks from the hound's teeth; her entire body was ice cold. When he touched her tiny chest, he detected a strong, though faint, heartbeat. Upon seeing the infant’s exposed spine, he showed no surprise or shock, merely nodding thoughtfully.

The old monk tore a strip from the hem of his robe and gently wiped the infant's pale, blueish body. The black hound, seeing this, extended its tongue and licked the baby’s wrinkled little face. After drying the rainwater from the infant, the old monk tore off another strip of cloth and carefully wrapped her, nestling her against his thin chest.

The infant, who had been silent since birth, suddenly let out a loud, clear cry. Her tender wail pierced the deep night like an arrow, weaving together with the booming thunder and the drumming rain to form a scene both tragically beautiful and profoundly eerie.

Having found warmth against the monk's chest, the infant instinctively opened her mouth and latched onto the monk's

The black hound, carrying the Griffin’s egg in its jaws, approached the old monk and gently deposited it onto the ground before looking up at him. The monk sighed deeply, “Ah Hu, you may go now! Rest assured, I will take excellent care of her!” He tapped the Griffin’s egg lightly against a tree branch before placing it near the infant girl’s mouth. The baby instinctively opened her tiny lips and began to suckle, making faint chirping sounds.

Seeing the infant enjoying herself so heartily, the hound shed two clear streams of tears, mingled with blood, which dripped onto the earth. It cast one last look back at the deceased Griffin, then turned and retreated, one step hesitant after another, reluctantly vanishing into the faint, early morning mist…