(A/N): Though I do not own Ghost Hunt, the work I write is my own. Do not copy, lift or use anything I write as claim it as your own, for that is plagiarism and is illegal.

The night was cold.

For the figure who led the way, the freezing air and the snow and ice that buffeted their face was nothing more than a slight disturbance. They knew, though, never to underestimate the power and force that the Kunlun Mountains could unleash on an arrogant or careless traveller. As of now, the bitter weather did not threaten to harm or seriously hinder the travellers, though the two men who walked behind the guide were struggling from the cold.

It was a strange party of three that walked on the mountain – the guide was simply a figure, a silhouette, hidden inside a thin, cloak-like material that looked far too thin for the harsh climate. Their face was not visible, and it was impossible to determine their gender. No one knew the name of this person, only that they were a mountain guide who had been instructed to guide the two other travellers across the mountain to a monastery on one of the many mountain slopes.

Whoever they were, they walked swiftly and confidently, easily trekking over the rock and ice. In contrast, the two other travellers struggled in the cold conditions: one walked uncertainly behind the guide, his footsteps slipping occasionally and his pace faltering, but constantly nervous and always looking around him, as if he was expecting to be attacked at any moment; the other, a mere child, gripped fearfully onto the rope that attached him to his father as he skidded and tripped over the treacherous terrain, barely managing to keep up.

After some time, the three slowed to a stop. Bending over, the man panted as he caught his breath, the wisps of condensation being swept away by the wind within seconds. The child, exhausted, slumped to the floor.

"F-Father…" He gasped. "W-W-When will we arrive at the m-m-monastery?" He spoke in Cantonese.

"I don't know." His father was exasperated in his reply, having heard the question numerous times on the journey, and the child whimpered quietly to himself. The man patted the child's head, before turning to the guide. "Well?"

"…A few miles." It was the first time the guide had spoken for the entire journey, and they spoke using Cantonese. Still, their gender was unidentifiable – their voice was little more than a whisper that was snatched away in the gale. "We will continue. Come."

The guide began to walk, so the man followed swiftly. The child stood up begrudgingly and dragged himself along.

"…Your name…" the guide asked after a period of silence. "…is Lin-xiānshēng, yes?"

"Ah, yes."

"And you are from…?"

"Hong Kong."

The guide chuckled. It was a strange, grating sound, almost like ice on rock.

"…No wonder you seem so…unaccustomed to this weather. Hong Kong is subtropical, is it not?"

"Yes, yes it is." The man, Lin, seemed reluctant to continue conversation, instead trying to focus his efforts on walking steadily on the ground without slipping.

"And you are a professor?"

"Yes."

Again, they walked for silence in some time, before the guide spoke once more, "What exactly is your purpose here?"

"…I am investigating something."

"Oh?"

Koujou seemed reluctant to talk about it, and did not elaborate on it. The guide asked this time,

"…Whatever it is you are investigating, I hope you know where to find it. The Kunlun mountains are vast. 3,000km." Again, the man did not answer, so the guide took a different angle. "Your son. Is he part of this investigation?"

"No." This time, Lin's answer was immediate, and almost angry. "…He is just here for training. That is all."

"Training?"

"The monastery practises some interesting martial arts. I am bringing him here to train in them."

After that, no more words were passed between them, and they continued the walk in silence. Finally, they seemed to be heading downwards.

"There! There it is!" Lin pointed in relief. At the base of the mountain, the faint outline of the monastery was just visible.

Panting, the child grinned. "W-We're here?"

"Almost. Just a little further." His father took his hand, for the child seemed on the point of collapsing. The guide watched on in silence – it was the first time the entire journey that the man had ever looked relaxed. Throughout the rest of the journey, the professor had been very quiet. When they had first met, he kept on looking around himself nervously, as if expecting ill fortune. Every time they stopped for a break, the professor would shuffle uneasily, checking over his shoulder. His lips were always pursed, and his hand was frequently lingering at his side, where his mountaineering knife was, fingers brushing over the hilt, ready to unsheathe it. The man could barely stand still, and each gust of wind seemed to startle him. He was afraid of something, the guide realised. His actions and his movements were fuelled by fear. What was he so scared of? Perhaps it was the journey itself, the guide wondered. If Lin was from Hong Kong, a subtropical area, and was not used to cold, vicious mountain weather, then it would not be unusual for him to be nervous.

Even so, the guide was not satisfied. Fear in others was often an indicator of imminent danger or trouble. It would be foolish not to remain on guard. The guide's intuition was sharp, and had not failed them in the past. Now, it was telling them that something dangerous was afoot.

After only a few minutes, the fog began to clear, and the guide could pick out a figure standing by the edge of the treacherous mountain side, waiting.

"Ah, that will be one of the monks." Lin spoke. "Stay here. I'll go greet him." Untying the rope that connected him to his son, the professor walked towards the figure. Remaining silent, the guide watched on warily. Something was wrong. The monk was sill, as if he was frozen. The guide had interacted with the monks of the nearby monastery several times, and they were always friendly. They would always go and greet their visitor, welcome them, talk to them, even in the harshest of weather. This person…their stance was threatening, as if waiting to be attacked, or to attack. Did something happen at the monastery?

That did not matter to the guide, and it was not in their place to interfere, but nevertheless, they watched intently.

Lin arrived by the monk and introduced himself. His words were just audible over the wind. "…I'm Professor Lin, I'm here to help with your possession problem." He turned, and pointed over to where his son stood. The monk moved closer to him, slowly moving back his arm. "And over there is –"

The monk thrust his arm forwards, and Professor Lin's words cut off. His mouth opened but no sound came out. The monk moved backwards, clutching something that glinted with red through the storm. Professor Lin sank to his knees, gasping.

"F-Father?" His son called anxiously.

The professor fell to the floor.

"D-Dad!" The boy ran forwards, almost hurtling himself off the mountain path in the process. "Dad!"

The monk had not moved and stood still, waiting.

"Wait! Stay here!" The guide rushed forwards, grabbing the child, but the boy wrestled himself from their grasp. "Dad!"

Throwing himself down onto the ground, the boy grabbed his father and, through tears and a strained voice, began to shake him. "Daddy…Daddy, wake up…"

The professor began to stir. He pushed himself up, clutching his abdomen with one hand, reaching out to his son with the other. His palm was stained with blood.

"S-Son…L-Listen to me…run away…g-go…" He coughed and heaved, gasping for breath.

"But you're hurt! You're b-bleeding!"

All the while, the monk had not moved, as the child tried to drag his father to his feet. "Come on…we have to go…the monastery is nearby…"

It was all too easy. The professor was tall and heavy, while the boy was weak. There was no way he would be able to move quickly while supporting the professor's weight. Finally, the monk moved forwards, and simply pushed the two travellers, who stumbled, fell, and rolled off the side of the mountain.

Crying in pain, the professor grabbed the rocky ledge with one hand, gripping his son with the other hand, grunting with pain. The monk watched him as he dangled desperately to the edge.

Choking, the professor shouted, "W-Who are you?!"

The monk said nothing. Instead, he lifted his hand, showing a knife that had already been bloodied.

"A messenger." He spoke finally. "From R.M."

The knife came down towards the professor's hand.

It stopped.

The monk froze again, the knife hovering a few inches from the professor's hands. Then he fell, tumbling off the mountainside, past the professor and his son, into the dark, distant depths below.

The guide threw their own knife to the floor, and got down onto the ground.

"P-Please!" Professor Lin gasped. "Take…take my son!"

Carefully, the guide reached down and grabbed the boy, ready to pull him up.

Heaving, the professor croaked, "…Koujou. Listen to me. G-Go to the monastery. Ask for Luella Johnson. T-Tell them…that you're my s-son."

"But…you're coming with me. Dad, you're coming with me." The boy's tone took one of desperation, as he realised what his father was telling him.

"K-Koujou. I…I love you. I want you to know that. I love you."

"D-Dad –"

"Do you love me, Koujou?"

"O-Of course –"

"Say if for me. Please. One last time."

The boy was hoisted onto the ledge by the guide.

"I love you, Daddy. But please, come with us. Please."

Professor Lin smiled. "I'm sorry. Good bye, Koujou."

His hand slipped away.