“What kind of spirits?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

Jian shrugged. “Different kinds. Some are good, some are… not so good. They live in the rocks, in the caves, in the old trees.”

His description echoed the warning I had received. The mountains indeed had their own entities.

As we got closer to the area of the ancient temples, the terrain became more challenging. Steep climbs, narrow ledges, and rocky outcrops. Jian navigated the path with practiced ease, while I struggled to keep up, my city-dweller body not used to such exertion.

But despite the physical difficulty, I felt a growing sense of anticipation and excitement. I was getting closer.

One afternoon, after a particularly strenuous climb, we reached a high plateau. And in front of us, carved into the sheer rock face of the mountain, was the structure I had seen in my meditations.

It was a massive cave entrance, framed by intricate carvings that depicted swirling patterns, geometric shapes, and figures that were clearly not human. The style of the carvings was strikingly similar to those on my fused sculpture.