太平山的山路，總是帶著一種無法言喻的靜謐，尤其是當夜幕低垂，樹影交錯，月光透過層層樹葉灑下斑駁的光影時，彷彿整座山都進入了一種沉睡的狀態。那天，我再度踏上這條熟悉的山徑，心裡卻隱隱有些不安。或許是因為那塊石龜。自從第一次見到它後，我總覺得它有些不對勁，那低垂的頭，那朝向海的姿勢，像是在等待什麼，又像是在預告什麼。我試著告訴自己，那只是一塊普通的石頭，但心裡卻有個聲音不斷提醒我，事情並不那麼簡單。
當我再次來到那塊石龜前時，天色已經開始昏暗。石龜仍然靜靜地伏在地上，像一個沉默的守護者。泥土上的裂紋似乎比上次看到時更多了一些，像是有什麼力量從地底慢慢侵蝕而出。我蹲下來仔細觀察，手指輕輕觸碰那些裂紋，竟然感覺到一絲微弱的震動，就像是大地深處的心跳。我猛然縮回手，心跳加速。這不可能，只是錯覺而已。我深吸一口氣，試圖平復心情，但耳邊卻傳來一陣低沉的聲音，像是風聲，又像是某種難以辨認的低語。我四下張望，卻什麼都看不到，只有樹葉在微風中輕輕搖曳。
我拿出手機，再次拍下石龜的照片。就在按下快門的瞬間，我突然感覺到一股寒意從腳底升起，彷彿有什麼東西正從地底慢慢爬出來。我猛然站起身，四周仍然一片寂靜，但那種被注視的感覺卻越來越強烈。我決定離開這裡，腳步加快地沿著山路往回走。然而，那低語聲竟然似乎跟著我，一直在耳邊迴盪。我停下腳步，回頭望向石龜，它依舊保持著那個姿勢，但我卻感覺它的頭似乎又低了一點，幾乎要貼近地面。
回到家後，我翻出之前拍的照片，仔細比對今天拍下的影像。果然，石龜的角度真的變了，它的頭確實比之前低了些許。這樣微小的變化，如果不是特意留意，根本不會察覺。我感到一陣寒意，不禁想起那位老人說過的話：「因為海會行過嚟。」難道他說的是真的？我試著在網上搜尋更多關於石龜的資料，但除了那些科學解釋外，再也找不到其他有用的信息。我躺在床上輾轉反側，那低語聲似乎仍然在耳邊縈繞。
幾天後，我再也按捺不住心中的疑惑，再次來到太平山。這次，我特意選在傍晚時分，希望能在夜幕降臨前找到一些答案。然而，當我走到石龜所在的位置時，我愣住了。石龜不見了。原本應該存在它的位置，只剩下一個深深的凹陷，那些裂紋也變成了一條條細長的溝渠，像是某種巨大的爪痕。我感到一陣莫名的恐懼，四周的一切似乎都變得詭異起來。遠處的維多利亞港隱約可見，但海面卻顯得異常平靜，彷彿在醞釀著什麼。
就在我準備離開時，一陣低沉的聲音再次響起，這次清晰得多，就像是某種古老的語言從地底傳來。我僵在原地，不敢動彈。突然間，我感覺腳下的大地微微震動，一股濕潤的氣息撲面而來。我順著聲音望向海的方向，隱約看到一道黑影正緩緩移動，像是一座漂浮在水面的巨龜。它的輪廓逐漸清晰，那低垂的頭，那沉重的步伐，都與石龜如出一轍。我不敢相信自己的眼睛，但那景象卻真真切切地出現在眼前。
黑影越來越近，我能感覺到一股無形的壓力籠罩著整座山。它似乎在尋找什麼，又似乎在等待什麼。我忍不住後退幾步，但腳下一滑，差點摔倒。就在這時，那黑影突然停下來，低垂的頭緩緩抬起，露出一雙深邃如海的眼睛，直直地看向我。我感到全身僵硬，就連呼吸都變得困難。那雙眼睛裡似乎蘊藏著無盡的秘密，又像是在無聲地訴說著什麼。
不知過了多久，那黑影終於轉身，朝著海的方向緩緩離去。我癱坐在地上，大口喘著氣，全身冷汗直流。當我終於回過神來時，那黑影已經消失在遠方，只剩下一片平靜的海面。我不知道自己是怎麼回到家的，只記得一路上腦海裡反覆浮現那雙眼睛，以及老人說過的話：「因為海會行過嚟。」
後來，我再也沒有踏上那條山路。而那塊石龜，也成為了我心中永遠無法解開的謎團。有時候，我會想，它是否真的只是塊普通的石頭？還是，它其實是一個警告，一個來自遙遠過去、警示未來的預兆？每當夜深人靜時，我總能聽到那低沉的聲音在耳邊迴盪，就像是一首古老而悲傷的歌謠，不斷提醒我，那片海終究會走上山來，而我們，只能靜靜等待那一天的到來。
English Version
The winding paths of Victoria Peak have always carried a quiet that feels deeper than simple silence, especially after dusk when the layered canopy of trees filters the fading light into fractured patterns that drift across the ground like remnants of a dream, and it was along one of these familiar trails that I returned once more, drawn not by curiosity alone but by a lingering unease that had never quite left me since my first encounter with the stone turtle, a formation that at first glance appeared ordinary, nothing more than a naturally shaped rock resting along the slope, yet something about it refused to settle into normalcy, its lowered head, its posture fixed toward the distant sea, as though it were watching, waiting, or perhaps anticipating something that had not yet arrived, and although I had tried to dismiss the feeling as imagination, as a tendency to assign meaning to random shapes, there remained a persistent sense that the stone held a presence, subtle yet undeniable, and as I approached it again that evening, the light already beginning to fade, the forest around me seemed unusually still, the air heavier, as if the mountain itself were holding its breath, and the stone turtle lay there exactly as before, unmoving, silent, its surface marked by fine cracks that seemed more pronounced than I remembered, spreading across the ground like veins, and driven by a mixture of doubt and fascination, I crouched down to examine it more closely, reaching out to touch the fractured surface, and in that instant I felt it, a faint vibration beneath my fingertips, so slight that it could easily be dismissed, yet distinct enough to send a sudden chill through me, like the distant echo of a heartbeat buried deep within the earth, and I quickly withdrew my hand, my pulse quickening as I tried to rationalize the sensation, telling myself it was nothing more than the shifting of soil or the movement of roots beneath the ground, yet even as I steadied my breathing, a low sound began to emerge, barely audible at first, like the murmur of wind passing through narrow spaces, but layered within it was something else, something that resembled a whisper, not in any language I could recognize, but in a tone that suggested intention rather than randomness, and I turned slowly, scanning the surrounding trees, but saw nothing except the gentle movement of leaves, the ordinary motions of a forest that should have felt familiar, and yet did not, and seeking to ground myself in something tangible, I took out my phone and captured an image of the stone turtle, the act of photographing it offering a brief illusion of control, yet the moment I pressed the shutter, a cold sensation surged upward from the ground beneath me, as if something deep below had shifted or stirred, prompting me to stand abruptly, the feeling of being watched intensifying in a way that was impossible to ignore, and though the stone itself remained still, I could not shake the impression that its posture had subtly changed, that its head had lowered further, inching closer to the earth, and unsettled by the thought, I turned and began to walk away, quickening my pace along the trail, but the low whispering sound seemed to follow, lingering at the edge of hearing, never fully present yet never entirely gone, and when I finally reached home, I found myself returning to the photographs I had taken, comparing them to earlier images from my previous visit, and it was then that the difference became undeniable, small but precise, the angle of the stone turtle’s head had shifted, lowered just enough to confirm that what I had sensed was not purely imagined, and with that realization came the memory of something an old man had once said, a phrase that had seemed cryptic at the time but now echoed with unsettling clarity, that the sea would come walking, a statement that lingered in my thoughts as I searched for explanations, finding only scientific interpretations that failed to account for the experience itself, and unable to dismiss the growing unease, I returned to the mountain again a few days later, choosing the late afternoon in the hope of confronting the mystery before darkness fell, retracing my steps until I reached the place where the stone turtle had been, only to find that it was gone, completely absent, leaving behind a deep indentation in the earth where it had once rested, the surrounding cracks now stretched into narrow grooves resembling the marks of something that had dragged itself forward, and as I stood there, trying to comprehend what I was seeing, the distant view of Victoria Harbour appeared unusually still, its surface calm in a way that felt unnatural, as though it were waiting rather than resting, and it was then that the low sound returned, stronger this time, resonating through the ground itself like the echo of something ancient stirring beneath layers of earth and water, and I froze, unable to move as the vibration intensified slightly, accompanied by a damp, heavy scent that rose into the air, and drawn by an instinct I could not resist, I looked toward the sea and saw it, a shape emerging slowly from the darkness, vast and indistinct at first, then gradually forming into something unmistakable, a massive silhouette moving across the surface of the water, its form resembling that of a giant turtle, its head lowered in the same posture as the stone that had once rested on the mountain, its movement slow yet deliberate, as though guided by a purpose beyond comprehension, and as it drew nearer, the air seemed to thicken, pressing down with an invisible weight that made it difficult to breathe, and despite the fear that gripped me, I could not look away, watching as the creature paused, its head lifting slightly, revealing eyes that held a depth that felt immeasurable, like the sea itself contained within them, and in that silent exchange, I sensed something beyond fear, something closer to a warning or a message, though one I could not understand, and after what felt like an eternity, the figure turned away, retreating back toward the horizon, its immense form dissolving gradually into the darkness until it was gone, leaving behind only the stillness of the water and the echo of that low, distant sound, and when I finally found the strength to move, I realized how deeply the experience had unsettled me, not only because of what I had seen, but because of what it implied, that the boundary between land and sea, between the known and the unknown, was not as fixed as it seemed, and that the stone turtle had never been merely a rock, but perhaps a marker, a signal, or even a dormant presence awaiting the moment to return to its origin, and since that day, I have never walked that path again, yet the memory remains vivid, resurfacing in quiet moments, accompanied by the faint echo of that whispering sound, like an ancient lullaby carried on the wind, repeating a message that I cannot fully understand but cannot ignore, that one day, the sea will rise, not as a wave or a storm, but as something far older and more deliberate, and when it does, we may finally realize that what we once believed to be still and lifeless had been watching us all along