魔鬼山的夜晚總是帶著一絲神秘，尤其是在月光稀薄的日子裡，整座山彷彿被黑暗吞噬，只剩下風聲在耳邊低語。阿強是一名熱愛夜行的登山客，他早已聽聞這座山的種種傳說，尤其是那道神秘的光，總是吸引著他前來一探究竟。這天，他終於鼓起勇氣，帶著一盞頭燈和一包簡單的裝備，獨自踏上了魔鬼山的山徑。
夜深人靜，阿強沿著蜿蜒的山路緩步而行，每一步都能聽見腳下落葉被踩碎的聲音。他抬頭望向漆黑的天空，星星稀疏，月光被厚重的雲層遮蔽，整片天地彷彿陷入了一片死寂。他的心跳聲在耳邊清晰可聞，像是在提醒他此行的冒險性。
當他接近山頂時，遠處突然閃過一道微弱的光。那光芒雖然短暫，但卻明顯地劃破了黑暗。他立刻停下腳步，屏住呼吸，試圖分辨那光的來源。然而，四周除了風聲和偶爾傳來的海浪聲外，什麼也沒有。他心中一陣悸動，那就是傳說中的燈號嗎？
阿強加快了腳步，朝著光出現的方向前進。當他終於抵達舊炮台時，一股濃重的潮濕氣味撲面而來，空氣中彷彿夾雜著陳舊的金屬味道。炮台的石牆早已斑駁不堪，苔蘚和雜草從裂縫中探出頭來。就在他環顧四周時，那道光再次出現了。
這次，他看得更清楚了。那是一道微弱卻清晰的光芒，在黑暗中閃爍了一下，又消失不見。阿強心中一驚，連忙掏出手機想要錄下這奇怪的一幕。然而，就在他拿起手機的瞬間，光芒又一次閃現，這次卻是兩下短促的閃爍。
「一閃、兩閃……」阿強喃喃自語著，他腦海中突然浮現出一個念頭：這不像是普通的燈光，而更像是一種信號。他想起之前聽過的傳說——這裡曾經是軍事要地，士兵們會用燈號傳遞信息。難道……這些燈號是從過去穿越而來的嗎？
阿強壓下心中的恐懼，小心翼翼地朝著光芒出現的位置走去。他的腳步聲在寂靜中顯得格外清晰，每一步都像是在擊打他的心臟。他終於來到了一個破舊的碉堡前，那裡滿是藤蔓和雜草，看起來像是多年未被人踏足過。
他拿出手電筒，小心地照向碉堡內部。裡面漆黑一片，空氣中瀰漫著濕冷的氣息。突然，他感覺到一股異樣的寒意從腳底竄上脊椎。就在此時，那道光再次出現了！這次，它竟然就在碉堡內部。
阿強屏住呼吸，小心翼翼地踏進碉堡。他的手電筒光束在牆壁上掃過，可以看到一些模糊不清的字跡和符號，似乎是士兵留下的標記。他正想靠近查看時，耳邊突然傳來一陣低沉的聲音，像是有人在低語。
「誰？」阿強驚恐地喊道，但回應他的只有空洞的回音。他感到背脊發涼，手中的手電筒開始微微顫抖。然而，他還是不甘心就此放棄，他想要找出燈號背後的真相。
就在他繼續向前探索時，那道光再次閃現，但這次卻更加明亮且持久。他順著光源看去，竟然看到了一個模糊的人影站在碉堡深處。那人影身穿舊式軍裝，手中拿著一盞古老的提燈，正對著阿強微笑。
「你是誰？」阿強鼓起勇氣問道，但那人影並未回答，只是靜靜地站在那裡。突然，那盞提燈熄滅了，一切再次陷入黑暗。
阿強不敢再多停留，他迅速轉身跑出碉堡，一口氣跑到山頂。他瘋狂地喘息著，試圖平復心情。但當他回頭望向碉堡時，那道光卻再次出現了，而且這次不止一道，而是三道光芒同時閃爍。
他呆呆地站在原地，看著那些光芒在黑暗中跳動，如同某種無聲的語言正在與他對話。他想起那些關於「時間殘影」的傳說，也許這些燈號真的是過去遺留在此地的一段記憶。
最終，阿強決定離開。他知道自己無法解開這個謎團，也許有些問題本就不該有答案。當他走下山時，那些燈號仍然在他腦海中迴盪，就像是一首未完成的旋律。
幾天後，他將自己的經歷告訴了幾位朋友，但大多數人都只是當作故事聽聽，並不相信。然而，每當夜晚降臨時，他總會忍不住回想起那晚看到的一切。也許，在某個平靜無風的夜晚，那些燈號還會再次出現，在魔鬼山頂閃爍著——無聲地訴說著一段被遺忘的歷史，一個早已消失在時間長河中的秘密。
English Version
At night, Devil’s Peak in Hong Kong carries an atmosphere unlike any other, especially on evenings when the moon is hidden behind thick clouds and the sky offers little light, leaving the mountain swallowed in darkness where only the sound of wind moves through the silence, creating a setting that feels suspended between the present and something far older, and it is precisely this eerie quiet that draws certain hikers to explore its slopes after dusk, including Ah Keung, a night hiking enthusiast who had long been fascinated by the stories surrounding the mysterious lights said to appear near the summit. Determined to witness the phenomenon for himself, he set out alone one night, equipped with a headlamp and minimal gear, following the winding path upward as dry leaves crunched softly beneath his feet, each step echoing louder than expected in the stillness, while above him the sky remained dim and starless, as though the mountain itself was cut off from the rest of the world. As he climbed higher, the air grew heavier and more humid, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea mixed with something metallic and aged, hinting at the mountain’s past as a military site, and it was just as he approached the summit that he saw it for the first time, a brief flicker of light in the distance, faint yet unmistakable, cutting through the darkness for only a second before disappearing completely. He froze in place, holding his breath as he strained to locate the source, but there was nothing to see, only the endless blackness and the sound of wind brushing past the ruins scattered across the hill. His pulse quickened as excitement and unease blended together, and convinced that he had just witnessed the legendary signal light, he moved faster, heading toward the area where the flash had appeared. When he finally reached the old battery near the top, the atmosphere shifted noticeably, the air thick with moisture and carrying a subtle metallic odor, as if remnants of the past still lingered within the crumbling stone walls covered in moss and creeping plants. As he scanned the surroundings, the light appeared again, this time more clearly, a distinct flicker that seemed deliberate rather than random, flashing once before vanishing again into the darkness. Gripping his phone, he attempted to record the phenomenon, but just as he raised it, the light flashed twice in quick succession, forming a pattern that immediately struck him as intentional, almost like a coded signal rather than a natural occurrence. The realization sent a chill through him as he recalled the stories he had heard, that soldiers once stationed on Devil’s Peak used light signals to communicate across distances, and a thought began to take shape in his mind, unsettling yet impossible to ignore, that what he was witnessing might not belong to the present at all, but could be an echo of the past somehow repeating itself. Fighting the urge to retreat, he pressed forward, following the direction of the light until he reached an old bunker partially hidden by overgrown vegetation, its entrance dark and uninviting, as though it had been sealed off from time itself. He switched on his flashlight and shone it into the interior, revealing damp walls marked with faded symbols and scratches that could have been left by soldiers long ago, and as he stepped inside, a sudden coldness surged upward from the ground, wrapping around him in a way that felt unnatural, causing his grip on the flashlight to tighten. At that exact moment, the light appeared again, but this time it was inside the bunker, glowing faintly from deeper within, pulsing once, then fading, as if beckoning him further in. His breathing grew shallow as he moved cautiously forward, each step accompanied by a sense of being watched, and then he heard it, a low murmur, barely audible yet undeniably present, like distant voices overlapping in whispers that he could not fully understand. Startled, he called out, but his voice echoed hollowly against the walls, offering no answer except its own fading repetition. Despite the fear building within him, he continued deeper, driven by a need to uncover the source of the light, and when it appeared again, brighter and more sustained than before, he followed it until he saw something that made him stop completely, a figure standing in the shadows at the far end of the bunker, faint yet distinct, wearing what appeared to be an old military uniform and holding a lantern that emitted the same strange light he had been chasing. The figure stood motionless, facing him, and though its features were difficult to discern, there was a sense that it was aware of his presence, watching him silently. Gathering what little courage he had left, Ah Keung asked who it was, but the figure did not respond, its stillness more unsettling than any movement could have been, and then, without warning, the lantern extinguished, plunging the bunker into complete darkness. Panic surged through him, and he turned and ran, stumbling out of the bunker and back toward the open air, not stopping until he reached the summit where he could finally breathe again. As he tried to steady himself, he turned back toward the bunker, and to his astonishment, the light reappeared once more, but this time there were three distinct flashes, blinking in a pattern that felt deliberate, almost communicative, as if something was attempting to send a message across time itself. He stood frozen, watching the lights pulse in the darkness, unable to decipher their meaning yet unable to look away, until eventually the fear overcame his curiosity and he made the decision to leave, descending the mountain with the lingering image of those lights etched into his mind. In the days that followed, he shared his experience with friends, but most dismissed it as imagination or coincidence, unwilling to believe that such a phenomenon could exist, yet for Ah Keung, the memory remained vivid and unresolved, returning to him each night as he replayed the sequence of lights and the silent figure in the bunker, wondering whether what he had witnessed was merely a trick of perception or a fragment of history repeating itself beyond the boundaries of time. And somewhere on Devil’s Peak, on nights when the wind is still and the darkness deep, those signal lights may continue to flicker unseen by most, quietly transmitting a message from a past that refuses to fade, waiting for someone to notice, to follow, and perhaps to understand what was never meant to be forgotten.