飛鵝山的夜晚，總是披著一層神秘的面紗，吸引著那些尋求刺激與靜謐的人們。那晚，我和朋友阿俊決定重回這個地方，重溫那幾年前的奇異經歷。月光灑在山道上，像是給石階鋪上一層銀色的薄紗，四周靜得只剩下我們的腳步聲與偶爾的風聲。這次我們帶了更強的手電筒，心裡卻仍舊有些忐忑。
我們順著熟悉的石階往上走，那條山路依舊狹窄，青苔依然頑固地攀附在石頭上。阿俊半開玩笑地說：「今晚應該不會再遇到什麼奇怪的事吧？」我笑著附和，但內心卻不由自主地回想起那晚的腳步聲。那種感覺太過真實，像是某個看不見的存在一直伴隨著我們。走了大約二十分鐘，四周逐漸變得安靜，連蟲鳴都消失了，只剩下我們的呼吸聲與鞋底摩擦石階的聲音。
突然，一陣熟悉的腳步聲響起。那聲音很輕，卻清晰地從我們身後傳來。我們同時停下腳步，回頭望去，但身後只有月光下空無一人的山道。我看向阿俊，他臉上的笑容已經消失，取而代之的是一抹不安。「你也聽到了吧？」他低聲問。我點點頭，感覺後背一陣發涼。為了讓自己冷靜下來，我們說服自己那只是回音。於是，我們繼續往前走，但腳步聲並未消失，反而如影隨形地跟著我們。
這次，我們決定不再忽視它。阿俊舉起手電筒，照向四周，然而光線所及之處依然是空無一人。我們的心跳聲越發明顯，彷彿整座山都在回響著我們的恐懼。走著走著，我們來到一個熟悉的轉角，那是幾年前我們停下來的地方。腳步聲再次響起，這次卻是從前方傳來。我們屏住呼吸，緩緩靠近轉角，手電筒的光線在黑暗中顫抖。
當我們轉過彎時，眼前的景象讓我們瞬間僵住了。石階上站著一個模糊的身影，看不清面容，只能看到他穿著一件破舊的灰色長袍，低著頭一動不動。阿俊小聲問：「你是誰？」那身影沒有回答，只是慢慢抬起頭，用一雙空洞無神的眼睛看向我們。我感到雙腿發軟，手中的手電筒差點掉落。
突然，那身影以極快的速度朝我們衝來，我和阿俊驚叫一聲，下意識地往後退。然而，就在它快要接近我們時，它卻突然停下，消失在月光中。我們呆立在原地，不敢相信剛才發生的一切。阿俊喘著氣說：「快走！這地方不對勁！」我點點頭，我們迅速原路返回。
下山的路上，我們始終感覺有什麼東西在背後跟著，但每次回頭卻什麼都看不到。回到車上後，我們才稍微鬆了一口氣，但心中的恐懼並未散去。那晚，我們誰也沒再提起那個身影，只是默默地開車離開。
幾天後，我忍不住將這件事告訴了一位熟悉飛鵝山的老人。他聽完後沉默了好久，最後才說：「你們遇到的是山裡的守護者。他不會害人，但也不希望有人打擾他的安寧。」他頓了頓，又補充道：「下次再去，記得帶點供品給他，也許他會放你們一馬。」
自那以後，我再也沒有踏上飛鵝山的夜路。但每當想起那晚的經歷，我總忍不住想，那個身影究竟是什麼？他為什麼會出現在那裡？或許，有些秘密注定無法解開，而有些地方，也許人類永遠不該踏足。
English Version
At night, Fei Ngo Shan (Kowloon Peak) carries a different presence entirely, as though the familiar landscape sheds its daytime identity and reveals something older, quieter, and far less welcoming, drawing in those who seek solitude or thrill while concealing within its shadows something that does not easily reveal itself, and on that particular night, my friend and I returned there deliberately, not out of ignorance but out of a quiet compulsion to revisit an experience that had lingered unresolved in our memories for years, the kind of memory that refuses to settle into explanation and instead waits patiently for acknowledgment, and as we began our ascent along the narrow stone steps, the moonlight spread across the path like a thin veil of silver, illuminating just enough to guide us while leaving the surrounding slopes in deep shadow, the air cool and still except for the occasional whisper of wind brushing past the rocks, and although we had brought stronger flashlights this time, their beams felt strangely insufficient, as though the darkness around us absorbed more than it revealed, and at first everything seemed normal, the rhythm of our footsteps steady, the climb familiar, yet after about twenty minutes the atmosphere began to change in a subtle but undeniable way, the usual background sounds fading until even the faint chorus of insects disappeared, leaving behind an unnatural silence that made each movement feel amplified, each breath more noticeable, and it was within that silence that we first heard it again, a third set of footsteps, light yet distinct, emerging from behind us with a clarity that could not be mistaken for imagination, causing both of us to stop at the same instant and turn back toward the empty path, where nothing stood except the pale wash of moonlight across the stone, and in that moment we exchanged a look that confirmed what neither of us wanted to say aloud, that we had both heard the same thing, and although we tried to rationalize it as an echo, as some acoustic trick of the terrain, the explanation felt fragile, insufficient against the certainty of the sound itself, so we continued upward, attempting to ignore it, yet the footsteps followed, maintaining a presence just beyond sight, never drawing closer, never falling behind, existing in a fixed relation to us that made it impossible to dismiss as coincidence, and eventually we decided to confront it, sweeping our flashlights across the surroundings, illuminating patches of rock, clusters of grass, and empty stretches of path, but finding no source, no movement, nothing that could account for the persistent sound, and as our unease deepened, we reached a familiar bend in the trail, a place where we had once stopped years before, and it was there that the pattern shifted, because this time the footsteps did not come from behind but from ahead, emerging from beyond the curve as though whatever had been following us had somehow moved past us without being seen, and we slowed our pace, approaching the corner cautiously, the beams of our flashlights trembling slightly as they cut through the darkness, and when we finally turned the bend, we saw it, a figure standing motionless on the stone steps, its form indistinct yet unmistakably human, clothed in what appeared to be a worn gray robe that hung loosely from its frame, its head lowered, its presence silent and absolute, and for a moment neither of us spoke, the world narrowing to that single point on the path, until my friend managed to ask who it was, his voice quieter than I had ever heard it, yet the figure did not respond, instead lifting its head slowly to reveal a face that seemed devoid of expression, its eyes hollow, reflecting no light, no recognition, nothing that could be interpreted as human awareness, and before we could react further, it moved, not with the gradual motion of a person stepping forward, but with a sudden, unnatural speed, rushing toward us in a way that shattered any remaining sense of control, forcing us to stumble backward in instinctive fear, yet just as abruptly as it had advanced, it stopped, its form dissolving into the moonlit air as though it had never been there at all, leaving behind only the empty path and the echo of our own startled breaths, and for a few seconds we stood frozen, unable to process what we had just witnessed, until survival instinct took over and we turned and began descending as quickly as we could, retracing our steps down the mountain, the sense of being followed returning almost immediately, the unseen presence lingering just beyond our vision, accompanying us in silence except for that faint, persistent rhythm of an extra step, and although we repeatedly looked back, shining our lights into the darkness, we found nothing, no figure, no movement, only the unchanging landscape of stone and shadow, and it was not until we reached our car that the tension finally began to ease, though the memory of what had happened remained vivid and unresolved, and in the days that followed, I shared the experience with an elderly man who was familiar with the area, hoping perhaps for some explanation grounded in local knowledge, and after listening quietly, he told us that what we had encountered was believed by some to be a guardian of the mountain, a presence that did not intend harm but did not welcome intrusion either, something that existed as part of the land itself, observing rather than interacting, and he suggested that those who chose to walk there at night should do so with respect, even offering small tokens as a gesture of acknowledgment, a practice that sounded strange yet carried an underlying logic within the context of the experience we had endured, and since that night I have never returned to Fei Ngo Shan (Kowloon Peak) after dark, not out of fear alone but out of a lingering sense that certain places operate according to rules we do not fully understand, where presence is not limited to what can be seen and where sound may reveal what sight cannot, and even now, when I think back to that night, the detail that unsettles me most is not the figure itself, but the footsteps, that quiet, consistent third rhythm that accompanied us along the mountain path, suggesting that for a time, whether we acknowledged it or not, we were never alone