The Yanji Bridge: Echoes of the Departed

The mist rolled in like a shroud, enveloping the Yanji Bridge with an eerie silence. The bridge, once a bustling crossing for the bustling city of Yanji, now stood abandoned, its steel girders and wooden planks weathered by time. It was a place where the echoes of the past lingered, and the departed carriages were said to be the silent witnesses to countless untold stories.

Three friends, Xiao Li, a history buff, Mei Mei, a curious photographer, and Zhen, a thrill-seeker, decided to explore the bridge one rainy evening. They had heard whispers of the departed carriages, tales of ghostly apparitions seen at twilight, and they were determined to uncover the truth behind the legends.

As they stepped onto the bridge, the rain began to pour, the sound of dripping water mingling with the distant howls of the wind. Xiao Li, with a flashlight in hand, led the way, his eyes scanning the darkened tracks. Mei Mei followed closely behind, her camera ready to capture any evidence of the supernatural.

The bridge was silent, save for the occasional creak of the wooden planks under their feet. They reached the midpoint, where the tracks diverged into two separate paths. Xiao Li paused, his flashlight casting a flickering glow on the old, rusted signpost that read "Departed Carriages."

"Let's split up," Xiao Li suggested. "Mei Mei, you take the left track, and Zhen, you take the right. I'll stay here and keep an eye on the signpost."

Mei Mei nodded and began to walk down the left track, her camera clicking away as she captured the haunting beauty of the bridge. Zhen, on the right track, felt a chill run down his spine as he passed by the remnants of a carriage that had long since vanished.

Xiao Li, standing by the signpost, felt a strange sensation. It was as if the bridge itself was watching him, its eyes piercing through the darkness. He turned to look at the signpost, and that's when he saw it—a faint, ghostly image of a carriage, its windows fogged with the breath of the departed.

Suddenly, the wind howled louder, and the bridge seemed to tremble. Xiao Li's flashlight flickered, casting long shadows on the tracks. He turned back to the signpost, but the image of the carriage had vanished.

Mei Mei and Zhen returned, their faces pale and their voices trembling. They had seen nothing, but the feeling of dread was palpable. They decided to leave, but as they turned to go, the wind howled again, and the bridge seemed to come alive.

The signpost began to glow, and the image of the carriage reappeared, this time more vivid and clearer than before. It was then that they heard it—a faint, haunting melody, the sound of a piano being played by unseen hands.

Xiao Li's heart raced as he ran towards the signpost. The image of the carriage was now standing right in front of him, its windows fogging up with the breath of the departed. He reached out to touch it, and that's when the bridge trembled once more.

The image of the carriage began to fade, and with it, the melody. Xiao Li turned to see Mei Mei and Zhen, their faces ashen and their eyes wide with fear. The bridge was now silent, save for the sound of the rain.

As they made their way back to the car, the bridge seemed to shrink away from them, its presence growing fainter with each step. They reached the car, and without a word, they drove away, leaving the Yanji Bridge behind.

The next day, Xiao Li, Mei Mei, and Zhen returned to the bridge, determined to uncover the truth behind the departed carriages. They found the signpost, but the image of the carriage and the haunting melody were gone.

As they stood there, the wind howled once more, and the bridge seemed to come alive. The image of the carriage reappeared, this time more vivid than ever before. It was then that they realized the bridge was not just a place of legend, but a place of memory, a place where the departed carriages would always come to rest.

The friends left the bridge, their hearts heavy with the weight of the past. They knew that the Yanji Bridge was a place of mystery, a place where the departed carriages would always echo, their stories waiting to be told.