The whole town thought the old man had lost his mind when he poured salt all over the field every day; at night, when black snow rolled down from the mountain, only his land remained unfrozen.

### Chapter 1: The Madman of Oakhaven

In the memory of the people of Oakhaven, the valley nestled at the foot of the sacred Mount Voron had never known a peaceful winter. But this winter was more brutal than ever. The cold arrived three weeks early, bringing with it howling winds that felt like thousands of needles piercing the skin.

Amidst the stark white and gray backdrop of a town struggling against the freezing temperatures, old Silas Vance stood out as an eccentric figure, a never-ending source of amusement for the children and a topic of conversation at the pub’s tables.

Silas was over seventy. He lived alone in a dilapidated wooden house on the edge of town, which owned a vast but long-sparing barley field. His hair was white and scraggly like winter weeds, his hands were calloused, and his dull eyes stared intently at the summit of Mount Voron with intense anxiety.

But what made the whole town think Silas was completely insane wasn’t his appearance, but the strange behavior he had been repeating for the past three months.

Every morning, before the weak winter sun had even begun to penetrate the fog, people would see Silas pushing a crude wooden wheelbarrow piled high with sacks. It was salt. Coarse quartz salt, a pungent, coarse, sharp-grained salt. The old man, hunched over, would scoop up large handfuls of salt and scatter them in a straight, even line along the perimeter of his field, forming a perfect circle.

“Hey, Silas!” the portly town mayor, Donald, called from afar, his pipe smoking, his lips exhaling plumes of white smoke. “Are you offering sacrifices to the earth god again? Or are you planning to salt that damned barley field to eat through the winter?”

The hunters standing nearby burst into laughter, their giggles echoing in the stillness.

Silas didn’t answer. He didn’t even lift his head. He only smoothed his tattered woolen coat, his hands trembling with cold, yet his movements in scattering the salt were surprisingly precise. He muttered something under his breath, a series of ancient, incomprehensible murmurs.

“Leave that senile old man alone, Donald,” the blacksmith chimed in. “Since his son disappeared on that mountain last year, his mind hasn’t been right. He’s squandered all his savings on tons of salt from the trading caravans—it’s pure madness.”

Everyone turned away, leaving the old man alone with his wheelbarrow and the glistening salt grains at his feet. They didn’t know that behind that insane act lay an hourglass draining its last drops in Silas’s mind.

—

### Chapter 2: The Black Curse of Mount Voron

Silas Vance didn’t do it for no reason. He wasn’t insane. He was the only one in town who still possessed the bear-skin-bound diary of his ancestors – the first settlers of Oakhaven two hundred years ago.

In that diary, the last page, stained yellow by the passage of time, recorded a warning in red ink:

> *”When the birdsong ceases on Mount Voron, when the streams on its summit freeze to a gray ash, and when the blood moon appears in the midst of winter, the ‘Black Snow’ (The Obsidian Frost) will descend. It is not snow from the heavens, but the breath of a dark entity imprisoned within the mountain. Wherever it goes, life will freeze, forever unable to thaw. Humanity’s only weapon is the Salt of the Ancient Sea – a crystal carrying the pure energy of the earth’s sun.”*

Silas counted each sign. A month ago, the falcons that nested on the mountain’s cliffs had all flown south. Two weeks ago, the Voron waterfall cascading down the valley suddenly turned a murky gray and froze solid. And tonight, according to the astronomical cycle, is the blood moon of the winter solstice.

But no one believed him.

When Silas brought the diary to the town council, Donald threw it into the fire, laughing hysterically and saying it was a children’s fairy tale. Silas only managed to snatch back the half-burned pages. From that day on, he knew he could only save himself, and the land his son, Ethan, had cherished before disappearing in a blizzard on the mountain.

“Ethan…” Silas stood in the field, looking up at the mountain peak now shrouded in a strange, dark gray cloud. “I will protect this place. I know you are still alive, somewhere up there…”

As dusk fell, the town of Oakhaven was enveloped in an eerie silence. The wind stopped howling. The space was as still as a blank sheet of paper. Everyone closed their doors, warmed themselves by the charcoal fire, enjoyed a hearty dinner, and believed that tomorrow would be another ordinary winter day.

Only Silas remained standing on the porch. In his hand was the last bag of salt. He sprinkled the last grains of salt on the A-shaped corner of the fence, completing the seal.

The sun set, and from the horizon, the moon began to rise.

Up. It wasn’t the usual silvery-yellow color, but a deep crimson, like diluted blood, emitting an eerie, chilling light that enveloped the entire valley.

—

### Chapter 3: The Climax – The Black Snow Rises

Midnight.

A deep, rumbling sound, like thunder, echoed from deep within the earth, causing the glass cups in every house in Oakhaven to vibrate violently. The people awoke. They looked out the windows and witnessed a terrifying sight they had never imagined even in their worst nightmares.

From the summit of Mount Voron, a dense, swirling mass of black clouds, like a tsunami, began to pour down into the valley. It wasn’t clouds; it was a snowstorm. But the snowflakes weren’t pure white; they were pitch-black crystals, sharp and gleaming with a deadly light under the blood-red moonlight.

“Black snow! My God, black snow is coming down!” A night watchman’s desperate scream rang out and then abruptly died down.

A black blizzard swept through the suburban pine forest, and instantly, the centuries-old pine trees turned into gnarled, black blocks of ice, breaking in two under their own weight. Life was extinguished in the blink of an eye.

The storm slammed into the town.

Donald, the obese town mayor, panicked, clutching his chest of gold and rushing out of his carriage to escape. But the moment his feet touched the black snow on the pavement, a bone-chilling, black vapor rose from the ground, creeping up his trousers. Within three seconds, Donald’s entire body froze into a dark, gray ice statue, his face still contorted with utter terror. His carriage and horses suffered the same fate, turning into lifeless, black stone creatures.

Black snow seeped through the cracks in the doors, flooding the houses. The blazing fireplaces suddenly went out, turning into cold lumps of coal. The people of Oakhaven screamed and trampled each other as they ran toward the large church in the center – where they hoped the sanctuary could protect them. But no, the black snow spared no one, no place. It was like a hungry parasite, devouring all warmth, all life in the town.

Amidst the chaos, the ferocious black snowstorm rushed toward the edge of town, where Silas Vance’s log cabin and fields stood.

Silas stood on his porch, his hands gripping the wooden railing. He saw the black wave, dozens of meters high, crashing towards him like a monstrous mouth ready to devour him.

“Come here,” Silas thought to himself, his eyes tightly closed.

*CRASH!*

The black snowstorm slammed into the boundary of Silas’s fields. But a magnificent sight unfolded.

The moment the first black snowflakes touched the salt strip that Silas had diligently spread for three months, a bright, warm yellow light, like the dawn of summer, suddenly erupted from beneath the ground. The coarse salt began to melt, releasing ancient energy that directly countered the dark cold.

A fierce sizzling sound erupted, as if someone had poured boiling water into a cauldron of oil. The wave of black snow was stopped right at the salt line. It raged and roared, trying to break through, but the circle of salt acted like an invisible, impenetrable wall of fire. Outside the circle, the world was a deadly, icy hell; inside, Silas’s barley field and his wooden house remained perfectly peaceful, the soil soft, not a single black snowflake could penetrate.

—

### Chapter 4: The Game-Turning Twist

The storm raged for three hours before beginning to weaken as the blood moon slowly set behind the mountain range.

The town of Oakhaven was now a silent, black graveyard of ice. Houses, streets, and even the people who hadn’t managed to escape had turned into glistening blocks of black rock under the weak dawn light. Only a verdant oasis – or rather, Silas’s dark brown land – remained intact. His land wasn’t frozen, and even radiated a gentle warmth from the reaction of salt and earth energy.

Silas stepped onto the porch, his feet treading on the soft soil of his field. He looked beyond the salt flats, where his once mocking neighbors were now cold stone statues. A pang of sorrow welled up in the old man. He wasn’t glad he was right; he only regretted that no one had listened to him.

But just then, from beyond the salt flats, a dark figure staggered through the frozen corpses.

Silas squinted. It was a man, but he hadn’t been turned into black ice. He wore tattered animal skins, his face gaunt, but his eyes shone brightly. And in his hands… he held an ancient ceramic vase, from which emanated a warm blue smoke, pushing back all the black snowflakes around it.

“Father… Father!”

A hoarse cry shattered the silence.

Silas trembled all over, his walking stick falling to the ground. “Ethan? Is that… is that you?”

The man rushed forward, stepping across the salt line.

And he fell into Silas’s arms. It was Ethan, his son whom he thought was dead. Father and son embraced tightly, hot tears streaming down Silas’s gaunt cheeks.

“You’re alive! How could this be… Where have you been on that terrifying mountain for the past year?” Silas choked out.

Ethan gasped for breath, pointing to the ceramic pot in his hand and revealing a secret that completely stunned Silas.

“Father, the whole town was wrong, and even our ancestors misunderstood the curse!” Ethan hastily explained, his voice trembling with emotion. “I wasn’t lost because of the blizzard. A year ago, I accidentally fell into an ancient cave deep within Mount Voron. There, I met the mountain’s guardians – an ancient, reclusive tribe.”

“They guarded the mountain? And what about this black blizzard?”

“The black snow isn’t the breath of a dark monster, Father! It’s a self-defense mechanism of the mountain itself,” Ethan held up the ceramic pot. “Inside the mountain lies a vein of revitalizing minerals that can heal all diseases and prolong life. Donald’s men… for the past three years, they’ve been secretly sneaking up the mountain, using explosives to mine and steal those mineral crystals to sell for money. Their greed has damaged the mountain’s energy vein.”

Silas stared in disbelief. He remembered that, indeed, in the past three years, Donald and his hunters had become unusually wealthy, and they always made secret trips up the mountain at night.

Ethan continued, his eyes scanning the frozen town: “This dark snowstorm is the mountain’s purification, freezing and destroying the greedy, the negative and destructive. The mountain releases the cold to protect itself. And this vessel contains the tribe’s ‘Source Fire,’ it protects you because you went up the mountain to heal the creatures’ wounds, not to steal.”

“So… what about Father’s field? Why does the salt protect us?” Silas asked, bewildered.

Ethan smiled, a radiant, proud smile, as he looked at his father:

“Your salt isn’t a weapon against monsters. In the tribe’s ancient language, scattering salt around a piece of land isn’t about ‘warding off evil,’ but about ‘atonement and offering sincerity.’ For thirty years, our family has cultivated this land, yet we’ve never once dug up or destroyed the mountain. Your persistent daily scattering of salt, driven by pure love and absolute reverence for nature, has sent a signal to the mountain: ‘There is a good person here who respects the land.’ The mountain, having received your sincerity, has proactively avoided this land, never touching you!”

Silas stood speechless. It turned out his father’s most powerful weapon wasn’t magic or an ancient curse. It was his **goodness, respect for the land, and unwavering love** for this land. The whole town thought he was crazy for scattering salt, but it was the bitter, salty crystals of his devotion that saved his life.

—

### Chapter 5: The Rebirth of the Valley

“But what about the other people… the innocent children, Ethan?” Silas looked toward the town church, his heart aching. Donald and the demolition workers were guilty, but there were still good people in the town, innocent children.

Ethan opened the ceramic jar, and a bluish smoke rose, gathering into a warm halo. “The warmth from the Source Fire can melt the black ice and snow, Father. The mountain only wanted to punish those who directly destroyed it, but the cold has spread too far. If we combine this fire with your remaining salt, we can save the innocent.”

Without wasting a second, Silas and Ethan immediately acted. Silas pushed the wheelbarrow containing the last remaining sacks of salt from the warehouse, while Ethan carried the earthenware pot and led the way.

They entered the deathly town. Before each house, Ethan blew warm smoke onto the door, and Silas sprinkled a handful of salt on the doorstep.

A miracle occurred again in the early morning sun. The thick black ice covering the houses began to melt into clear streams of water, seeping into the ground.

At the town church, hundreds of people, huddled together and weeping in their partial freezing, suddenly felt a wave of warmth wash over them. The black ice on their bodies vanished. They could move their limbs, breathed a sigh of relief, and stared blankly at the door.

The first to enter the church was Silas Vance – the madman they mocked every day – followed by Ethan, the hero returned from the dead.

“Silas… You saved us?” The blacksmith trembled, kneeling and clinging to Silas’s robe. “We were wrong… We thought you were insane…”

“Don’t thank me,” Silas said in a low voice, helping the blacksmith to his feet. “Thank the mountain, and learn to respect it. Those who destroyed the mountain for profit… have already received their just judgment.”

Everyone looked out the window. Donald’s carriage was now completely melted, but the mayor and his men remained.

Those consumed by greed could never awaken. Their bodies turned to fine black dust, merging into the earth as an eternal punishment for their selfish greed.

—

### Chapter 6: The New Spring Field

The harsh winter finally passed, giving way to the warmest spring in Oakhaven’s history.

The black snow melted without leaving any trace of disease; instead, the water from the black crystals seeped deep into the earth, carrying precious minerals from Mount Voron, transforming the entire valley into an unprecedentedly fertile land.

The town of Oakhaven was now completely transformed. They elected Silas Vance as the town’s honorary leader. No one mined gemstones illegally on the mountain anymore. The people learned to live in harmony with nature, making a covenant to protect Mount Voron for generations to come.

In the Vance family’s fields, the first barley stalks had bloomed, lush green and rustling in the spring breeze like a love song of nature.

Silas stood on the porch of his newly renovated wooden house, a testament to the townspeople’s collective efforts. He no longer had to push his wheelbarrow to spread salt every morning. Beside him, Ethan was instructing the village children on how to plant trees and cherish every inch of the land.

Silas looked up at the summit of Mount Voron, now filled with the melodious chirping of birds, the cliffs gleaming in the golden sunlight. He smiled, raising his cup of hot tea to a sip. The spring breeze carried the faint salty taste of the salt and the sweet fragrance of the new earth – the taste of rebirth, of justice, and a fitting end for those who remain faithful and honest in the face of life’s storms.