Xu Fu, as you know, never returned after his departure.
I’ll only speak of the Chantou Army. The Chantou Army remained eternally loyal. According to the records in Ding, there were four extremely secret nests of the Di Xiao in the South Ba region. The Chantou Army repeatedly ventured deep into the ancient forests and found the indigenous people living in the dense woods.
From a modern perspective, these indigenous people were ethnic minorities living in the ancient forests. Due to their long-term mountain dwelling and isolation from civilization, their living environment, lifestyle, habits, and even their height, physique, and development of specific organs differed from outsiders.
Their most distinctive feature was their ability to detect the scent of Di Xiao—reportedly a peculiar musty odor that neither the Chantou Army nor anyone else could smell, except for these indigenous people.
This made sense, though, as humans evolve according to their environment—a form of natural selection. For people who had lived for generations in areas where Di Xiao appeared, only those who could smell them could prepare to flee or fight; otherwise, their tribes would have been extinct long ago.
From these indigenous people, the Chantou Army confirmed that Di Xiao weren’t merely legends but had truly existed, and they gradually located the nests.
Subsequently, they undertook three actions.
First, they recruited the indigenous people. Their keen sense of smell was invaluable to them. These recruited individuals later became known as the “Dog Family People”—not as an insult, but referring to their dog-like noses.
Yan Tuo recalled the large-headed man who loved eating cucumber with sauce—he must have been one of the “Dog Family People.”
No wonder Sister Hua had given him directions normally at first, but after checking the new message on her phone, she inexplicably tried to delay him with the poor excuse of moving sauce jars.
Thinking back now, Big Head must have sent Sister Hua a message because he had detected the scent of Di Xiao emanating from the car.
The second thing the Chantou Army did was to “seal”—they sealed the four major nests and installed doors with locks.
Though the old saying goes “blocking is inferior to diversion,” this wasn’t about controlling water. Since Di Xiao was already rare, blocking their source would prevent future troubles.
Of course, the “sealing” came at a great cost. You may have heard that after Emperor Qin unified the six states, fearing rebellion from the common people, he “collected all weapons from the realm and gathered them in Xianyang.” He then cast twelve golden statues. After Qin’s fall, these twelve golden statues disappeared—folk tales vary about their fate. Some say they were burned when Xiang Yu set fire to Epang Palace, others claim they were buried with the First Emperor, and some say Dong Zhuo melted them down for copper coins during the late Eastern Han.
I don’t know where the other golden statues went, but I do know that at least one was used in the South Ba forest—split into four parts to forge four great doors. Because they were made from golden statues, they were called the Golden Man Gates.
The third action of the Chantou Army was to enter the nests in phases, lock the Golden Man Gates behind them, and formally hunt for Di Xiao—this was quite tragic. When you lock the door to kill a dog, you might succeed, but with no escape route, you might also get bitten to death. Many of the Chantou Army died, experiencing countless heart-stopping moments, but after more than two years, they finally found their way and located the first Di Xiao.
At this point, as the story was nearing its end, Nie Jiuluo took a deep breath and asked Yan Tuo, “What do you think—was the First Emperor pleased or displeased?”
This seemed obvious—of course, he would be pleased.
Yan Tuo was about to answer but hesitated: firstly, according to historical records, the First Emperor was somewhat temperamental; secondly, since she specifically asked this question, the answer couldn’t be so simple.
Yan Tuo: “Not… pleased, I suppose?”
Nie Jiuluo wore an expression that said “I knew you’d answer that way.”
She said, “Your history isn’t very good. In 210 BCE, the same year Xu Fu sailed to the Eastern Sea and the Chantou Army entered the South Ba forest, the First Emperor had already passed away. The Di Xiao wasn’t found until more than two years after his death, by which time, following Chen Sheng and Wu Guang’s rebellion, then Xiang Yu and Liu Bang’s rise, the Second Emperor of Qin was already approaching his downfall.”
Is that so? Yan Tuo felt his answer wasn’t wrong: who would be happy about matters from their lifetime only being resolved after their death?
Nie Jiuluo continued: “The Chantou Army’s location was too remote, even carrier pigeons couldn’t reach it. In the mountains, time lost its meaning. They were so focused on finding Di Xiao that when they finally succeeded, they discovered the outside world had completely changed—the emperor was dead, and their direct superiors had been killed in the power struggles of succession. In other words, this branch of the Chantou Army had been completely forgotten.”
“With the Great Qin Dynasty nearly fallen, there was no hope of returning to official positions. Fighting was everywhere, and they didn’t want to get involved. After collective discussion, they decided to keep their silence, guard the secret of Di Xiao and South Ba forest, and live as ordinary civilians under different names.”
“Afterward, they settled near the South Ba forest, naturally forming a village. Ancient Chinese society was relatively closed with little mobility. A village could continue for hundreds or thousands of years with minimal changes. Gradually, living off the mountains, the village became a hunters’ village, commonly known as the ‘Ba Mountain Hunters.’ Of course, this hunters’ village was different from others—it had its secrets.”
“Usually, they were no different from ordinary hunters, hunting wolves, leopards, bears, and tigers. But typically every hundred years or so, when they had enough strong hunters, they would secretly organize a ‘Worship of Golden Man, Walk the Green Soil’ ceremony, hoping to hunt Di Xiao. This was called ‘Green Soil bearing fruit, flowers showing results.’ After all, catching one Di Xiao meant extra wealth—even divided among the whole village, each family would have more than enough. In this world, who doesn’t love money? However, most of the time, walking the Green Soil yielded nothing.”
Yan Tuo felt something didn’t add up: “Hadn’t they caught Di Xiao before? Weren’t Di Xiao ‘immortal’? Theoretically, once you catch one Di Xiao, wouldn’t that solve everything? Why would they need to catch more?”
Nie Jiuluo replied: “Don’t forget, Di Xiao lived underground. ‘Immortal’ referred to their underground existence—that was their survival environment. Once exposed to daylight, they aged rapidly and died quickly, typically living only twenty or thirty years at most.”
Yan Tuo thought to himself: No, that’s not right.
After Nie Jiuluo began her narrative, he had been excited almost throughout. Many of her descriptions matched the clues he had observed over the years—what he knew were fragments, now being connected one by one, revealing past events, old stories, cause and effect. This feeling was almost overwhelmingly exciting.
But at this point, things started to differ. Lin Xirou wasn’t like that—she didn’t live underground, she barely aged at all, and showed no signs of dying.
Nie Jiuluo noticed his odd expression but pretended not to see it: “Now, I’ll formally answer your four questions. My previous answers were just to help you understand and weren’t accurate. Here, there will be corrections. Everything I say now should be considered definitive.”
“First, what is Dog Tooth, and what’s its origin? Earlier I said it was Di Xiao, but here, I need to correct that—I don’t know what it is, and neither do the people at Ban Ya. Many of its characteristics are similar to Di Xiao, or rather, it must have an extremely close connection to Di Xiao. Even if it’s not one, it must be a close relative.”
Yan Tuo wanted to say something, but Nie Jiuluo gestured for him to wait and listen to her first.
“There’s a crucial piece of information I hadn’t mentioned before, deliberately saving it for now: The Chantou Army became Ba Mountain Hunters, living off hunting. Di Xiao, like tigers, wolves, and bears, was just prey. Di Xiao were beasts, not humans—there was a fundamental difference. They weren’t even humanlike; monkeys resembled humans more than they did. So in my view, hunting Di Xiao, while not entirely proper, wasn’t against natural law—they were wild beasts after all.”
“This is also why even though I found Dog Tooth very strange—able to move freely on high-rise exterior walls, enduring a blinded eye without treatment—I never connected him to Di Xiao. Until I discovered that Sun Zhou, who had been scratched by him, actually sprouted roots. To further confirm, I drew blood from his neck, elbow, and thigh—Di Xiao’s blood is thicker in these areas. But even so, I still can’t say he is Di Xiao, which is why I can only say they ‘might have an extremely close connection.'”
Yan Tuo’s mind was in chaos, his earlier joy slowly turning sour: After all these years, when he had struggled so much and was finally approaching answers, why did she suddenly change course, saying it wasn’t what he thought? He had finally found someone like her who understood Dog Tooth, but in the end, she could only offer speculation.
“The second question, what ‘sprouting roots’ means, has already been answered.”
“The third question is how to treat it. The Chantou Army summarized from experience that Di Xiao were underground creatures who feared fire and especially hated sunlight. Generally, within twenty-four hours of injury, using ‘heaven-born fire’—fire taken from the sun using lenses, or in ancient times, using yang-sui—to repeatedly cauterize the wound could gradually force the roots to retreat, making it safe. It must be done early; the longer you wait, the worse it gets. If a red line appears crossing the pupil of the eye, that person is basically beyond hope.”
Wrong again, this wasn’t right either. Lin Xirou wasn’t like that—she didn’t hate sunlight. For a time, she had even gone to the beach for sunbathing, saying she liked that healthy-looking, tanned skin.
“The fourth question, what are Chang ghosts.”
“The term Chang ghost comes from the idiom ‘being a Chang for a tiger.’ During the Chantou Army’s dealings with Di Xiao, they occasionally encountered very strange situations: Brothers who had been fine before, without being scratched, perfectly normal, would suddenly serve Di Xiao with absolute loyalty, willing to die for them. They hadn’t lost their minds and seemed normal in all aspects, but they would protect Di Xiao at all costs, even turning against and killing their kind. Such people were called Chang ghosts.”
Yan Tuo understood: “You think I’m a Chang ghost?”
Nie Jiuluo remained silent. She leaned forward, staring into Yan Tuo’s eyes, and after a few seconds said: “Aren’t you?”
Yan Tuo’s heart trembled, and he stayed quiet.
“Dog Tooth killed people in Xingba Village and injured Sun Zhou—you were the one who moved him away. Later, you ordered Dog Tooth to kidnap Sun Zhou from the hotel and then complained about his carelessness in letting me see his face. After that, at the small inn, you ordered Dog Tooth to guard me and Sun Zhou. Even if you two aren’t good friends, you’re certainly collaborating accomplices. Calling you a Chang ghost isn’t unfair at all—your suffering at Ban Ya is well-deserved.”
After finishing, her gaze fell on her teacup. There was lipstick on the rim, and it was still half full. She curved her left thumb and index finger, and just as she had flicked the small clay figure of Yan Tuo earlier, she gently flicked the cup. It flew off and surprisingly didn’t break when it hit the ground, rolling a long way and leaving a trail of spilled tea.
Yan Tuo remained silent, only glancing sideways at the fallen cup. He knew this meal was over, and the brief peace and friendship of this dinner were coming to an end.
“Yan Tuo, I’ve answered all four of your questions. To help you understand, I’ve provided plenty of additional information. Now, you can ask questions, and I’ll decide whether to answer them or not. Three questions maximum, ask them now, and we’ll be done tonight.”
Yan Tuo looked up at her: “You know so much about this—are you a descendant of the Chantou Army?”
“Being a descendant of the Chantou Army doesn’t mean one has to be involved in ancestral affairs. I’m an ordinary person who just wants to mind my own business. I have no interest in investigating you, Dog Tooth, or any accomplices. Next question.”
Only two questions left.
Yan Tuo’s throat felt dry: “How do you kill a Di Xiao?”
Nie Jiuluo raised her eyebrows slightly—this question was quite bold.
“Seems you know something about Di Xiao… Dog Tooth’s new eyeball is almost grown back, isn’t it?”
Yan Tuo’s expression remained neutral, neither confirming nor denying.
“Di Xiao has very strong regenerative abilities. It’s no exaggeration to say that even if you cut off their heads, they can grow a new one from the neck cavity—it’s just a matter of time. Heavenly fire, piercing the crown, and breaking the spine all cause significant damage, but they only delay recovery. As for killing them… the Chantou Army treasured Di Xiao, trying to extend their lives rather than end them. They only regretted that Di Xiao didn’t live long enough, since they would eventually die anyway. So, I can’t answer that. Next question.”
Yan Tuo sat motionless, overwhelming disappointment spreading from his chest like a bone-penetrating miasma, reaching every part of his body, almost collapsing his flesh and bones.
He had thought tonight would open a great door, and he watched as it slowly opened, only to see it close again.
Nie Jiuluo urged him to ask his next question. What should he ask? His mind felt stuck, unable to perform even basic logical thinking.
The light was dim and yellow; he hadn’t noticed before, but now it felt greasy like thick oil scattered messily throughout the room.
Yan Tuo said: “Was everything you said true? Miss Nie, if you lied, give me a ratio—I can accept that.”
Nie Jiuluo gave a cold laugh: “One thing for another—I’m returning the favor. There’s no need to use fake goods to fool people.”
Yan Tuo was silent for a while, then nodded: “I was being petty. Miss Nie, how… are you getting home? Should I drive you?”
Nie Jiuluo was startled but quickly stood up, picking up her paper bag and purse: “No need, I don’t quite dare ride in your car.”
Yan Tuo wanted to stand up to see her off, but between his low spirits and her demeanor suggesting she wouldn’t appreciate it, he only half-rose before sitting back down.
Nie Jiuluo reached the door, then turned back to look at him: “Yan Tuo, we’re even now, right?”
Yan Tuo: “We’re even.”
“The only reason I sat here eating with you today and telling you about Di Xiao’s origins was to return your favor. Now that we’re even, once I walk out this door, our paths won’t cross again. Be careful in the future, don’t let me catch you again. I won’t fall into the same person’s trap twice.”
Yan Tuo looked up at her for a while, then said: “You too.”