Based on their different experiences in Cao’s Village, among the five people, Yi Wansan was the only one who firmly believed from beginning to end that the cursed scroll was on Qing Shan.

With an injury to his head, he temporarily stayed in the car to rest. However, nature called—perhaps because he had been buried in the soil for the past few days and his stomach had gotten cold—suddenly, waves of turmoil churned inside him. With no proper sanitation facilities around, he could only grab some tissue paper and make a quick dash to the woods to relieve himself in the wild.

The relief was satisfying, but having been a civilized person for so long, he still felt uneasy. He kept pulling up his pants while anxiously looking around, fretting constantly—what if someone came? It would be one thing if it were unfamiliar country folk who saw him, but if Yan Hong Sha suddenly returned, his reputation would be ruined for life…

True to the saying “what you fear comes to pass,” at this nervous moment, he suddenly saw someone running rapidly from the direction of Cao’s Village.

Yi Wansan’s scalp tingled. He hurriedly cleaned up, and just as he stood up with his pants, the person had already reached the Humvee, knocking on the door and pressing his head against the window to look inside. His posture suggested he wanted a ride. Seeing no one in the car, he anxiously looked around, then quickly continued running along the road.

In that brief pause, Yi Wansan recognized him—it was Qing Shan.

What did this mean? Yi Wansan’s mind began racing.

According to the plan, today should be the wedding day. Why did Qing Shan look like he was fleeing in a desperate state? Had Yan Hong Sha succeeded? That seemed unlikely—Sister Er Huo had limited intelligence; only a genius would believe she could turn the tide in such a short time.

Watching Qing Shan running farther and farther away, Yi Wansan suddenly realized: regardless of the situation, he couldn’t let Qing Shan escape. The cursed scroll was on him.

Yi Wansan began the pursuit, initially just following intermittently through the woods, not daring to be conspicuous. Later, Qing Shan flagged down a tractor at a crossroads and quickly climbed into the back—Yi Wansan knew he had no chance of catching up with a four-wheeled vehicle. At this point, his only option was to go deep behind enemy lines.

He shouted as he ran out of the woods, also asking for a ride.

When the tractor driver saw him, he was so frightened he nearly slid off his seat: “Young man, what happened to you? Did your face get disfigured?”

Thank Buddha, he should be grateful that Yan Hong Sha had wrapped his face like a mummy.

Yi Wansan calmly climbed into the back of the tractor under the gaze of both the driver and Qing Shan.

As the tractor started up with a putt-putt-putt, Yi Wansan used an intentionally deep, hoarse voice to explain his background to the two men.

He was a cycling enthusiast, one of those determined to cycle across all of China. He had signed a publishing contract to do in-depth cycling tours of various provinces and cities, gathering local experiences, and occasionally drawing illustrations. But just two days ago, nearby, while cycling downhill, his brakes failed, and he went flying down the slope—face-first.

The tractor driver listened with goosebumps spreading all over his body: “Face-first? Wouldn’t that skin your face completely?”

Yi Wansan touched the bandage wrapped around his face and spoke convincingly: “Indeed. I limped along, pushing my bicycle to the county town to get bandaged. Later, while organizing my luggage, I lost a USB drive—all my research materials were on it, so I came back to look for it.”

The tractor driver was very sympathetic: “Did you find it?”

Yi Wansan sighed: “No.”

Qing Shan, having boarded the tractor, was like a closed bottle gourd, saying nothing. The tractor driver preferred chatting with Yi Wansan, which played right into Yi Wansan’s hands. He began extensively boasting about his cycling experiences: how he cycled to Kangding’s Zheduo Mountain, how he carried a small flag with signatures from friends from many countries, how a boss from Zhejiang sponsored him with thirteen thousand yuan…

The driver found it all fresh and interesting, exclaiming with surprise, and even Qing Shan couldn’t help but ask several questions.

Good, Yi Wansan gave himself a mental thumbs-up. This kind of “professional experience” should at least prevent Qing Shan from becoming suspicious.

The next step was to stick close to Qing Shan, then find an opportunity to contact Yan Hong Sha and the others—if he could get in touch with them.

He began to get friendly with Qing Shan, introducing his book contract with the publisher.

“Deep local experiences, capturing slices of ordinary people’s lives. That’s why I’ve been interviewing people I meet on the road, spending half a day or a day with them. I plan to interview a hundred people; the book will be called ‘One Day of a Hundred People.’ It will be published by the People’s Publishing House of China…”

Qing Shan hesitated for a moment, looking somewhat unwilling. He rubbed his hands and said, “I’m an ordinary person with nothing worth interviewing.”

The tractor driver was extremely enthusiastic: “Could I be in the book? Pick me, pick me.”

Yi Wansan mercilessly poured cold water on him: “I’ve already interviewed two tractor drivers. I really can’t have any more.”

The tractor driver was very disappointed. The People’s Publishing House of China—if he could appear in the book, people across China would see his story. The opportunity was missed just like that.

Yi Wansan continued pressing his unwelcome attention on Qing Shan: “What’s your name, brother? What do you do for a living?”

Qing Shan found him annoying.

“I have nothing worth interviewing. I’m just a laborer…”

“Labor is good! That’s exactly the material I need!”

“I have things to do; I need to hurry. I don’t have time for an interview…”

“No problem, you don’t need to set aside special time. That would make it too deliberate. You go about your business, and I’ll just record from the side. You know documentaries, right? That kind of style…”

“Why don’t you find someone else…”

“Chance encounters are better than arranged meetings. I think you’re excellent material…”

Qing Shan still possessed basic social etiquette and couldn’t bring himself to say anything harsh enough to drive someone away. He just felt this mummy was too insensitive and annoying. So he kept a stern face, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, thinking of finding a cheap place to shake him off.

Meanwhile, the tractor driver’s eyes had turned red with jealousy.

Inwardly, Qing Shan was probably cursing his bad luck. No matter how explicitly or implicitly he hinted, Yi Wansan always met him with a smiling face, pretending not to understand, politely following him as he changed vehicles and traveled, like a piece of sticky toffee that couldn’t be shaken off.

If there hadn’t been so many people around, he would have knocked him out with one punch. Why were these cultured people who wrote books so annoying?

Reaching the county town, Qing Shan switched to a bus heading to another township under the county’s jurisdiction. This township was in a different direction, relatively farther away. Yi Wansan naturally followed like a shadow. On the bus, he tried calling Luo Ren and the others one by one—no answer, no answer, no answer.

They probably hadn’t left Cao’s Village yet.

Or perhaps worse, even Hong Sha had been taken down.

Should he take down Qing Shan by himself? Would his blood work? In Nantian County, blood seemed effective against people influenced by the cursed scroll, but someone carrying the cursed scroll would probably be more challenging…

Despite his extreme anxiety, he still had to maintain the annoying interviewer façade. By evening, they reached their stop, and the two entered a restaurant at the entrance to the township. Qing Shan asked the owner about accommodation, while Yi Wansan slipped to the doorway and tried calling everyone again.

Amazingly, Luo Ren’s call went through.

Yi Wansan was so excited he nearly burst into tears.

He urged Luo Ren: “Come quickly! I can match wits, but if it comes to fighting, as you know, that’s my weakness…”

Luo Ren didn’t waste words: “Alright, send me your location later, and I’ll check it.”

Yi Wansan said, “You must hurry! I’ve been hurt by him before. Once he turns hostile, he’s vicious…”

Glancing up, he suddenly saw Qing Shan coming toward him. His heart skipped a beat, and his voice immediately rose by an octave.

“I’m conducting an interview! Yes, my book must have an English version. What? The Japanese want it too? No, I won’t sign with the Japanese. I resist Japan…”

On the other end, Luo Ren chuckled and hung up.

Yi Wansan put down the phone, pretending nothing had happened as he messaged Luo Ren. Qing Shan came over and said, “I have something to do tonight. I need to cross the mountain path and can’t cooperate with your interview anymore.”

Night. Mountain path.

The last time, such a combination of circumstances had nearly cost him his life. Yi Wansan’s scalp tingled, but outwardly he remained calm: “That’s fine, fine. Thank you for the interview today. This meal is on me. Let’s eat, let’s eat.”

Yi Wansan racked his brains to delay.

He started by ordering just a few dishes, then slowly added more, all while drinking and chatting with Qing Shan, not forgetting to send urgent messages to Luo Ren: “Hurry! Hurry up.”

He really couldn’t find any reason to stick to Qing Shan anymore without raising suspicion, and he didn’t dare follow him on the dark mountain path.

Luo Ren’s message back made him want to curse: “On the way. Try to stall as much as you can.”

How could he stall? Yi Wansan was extremely worried.

During another round of drinks, he glimpsed the corner of a wallet peeking out from Qing Shan’s open inner pocket.

Suddenly remembering the “returning found money” act that Cao Yanhua often performed, Yi Wansan’s heart began to pound. Taking advantage of another toast, he pretended to lose his balance, leaned on the table, and stumbled forward, bumping right into Qing Shan. As Qing Shan steadied him, he quickly moved to take the wallet.

The plan was good: after Qing Shan left, he would discover mid-journey that he didn’t have his wallet and might come back to look for it, buying more time. Or after Qing Shan left, Yi Wansan could use returning the wallet as an excuse to follow him for a while longer.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t Cao Yanhua and lacked the skill for swift theft: he did pull it out but couldn’t hold onto it, and it fell directly to the floor.

Qing Shan bent down to pick it up, his hand supporting himself on the table. It took him quite a while to retrieve it.

When he stood up, Yi Wansan smiled awkwardly: “I’m sorry.”

Qing Shan looked at him and said, “It’s fine.”

After the meal, there was no more reason to detain him. Yi Wansan watched helplessly as Qing Shan left along a small path. He was so anxious he was hopping from foot to foot, quickly calling Luo Ren again.

Luo Ren answered: Almost there. Even if you have to throw a tantrum, think of something, stall a bit longer.

Almost there…

Yi Wansan steeled himself. Since they were almost there, he would… follow again!

He borrowed a flashlight from the restaurant owner and fearfully followed the small path.

The flashlight was bright and would certainly be noticed by Qing Shan. Yi Wansan thought about what excuse to make up: maybe say he came out to watch the stars?

After walking for a while, he hesitantly stopped, sweeping the flashlight around.

This was the back of the mountain. Not far away was an abandoned courtyard with a collapsed roof. Shining the light directly, he could see a stone mill in the courtyard and a well pulley.

On the side were shrubs, and the paths ahead and behind were pitch black.

Given that Qing Shan had been walking at a moderate pace, he should have noticed Yi Wansan following behind. Why was there now no sign of movement?

Yi Wansan shone the flashlight around again, puzzled.

This time, when the light reached the courtyard, it suddenly illuminated a person standing by the stone mill. It was Qing Shan, silently standing straight, his eyes fixed intently on Yi Wansan.

Yi Wansan was so frightened he nearly dropped the flashlight.

After collecting himself, he tightened his grip on the flashlight, his palm covered in cold sweat, his heart pounding heavily. He felt something was wrong.

But on the surface, he still had to laugh it off, pretending it was a chance encounter.

He said, “The restaurant owner told me I could climb up from the back to watch the stars. What a coincidence, you’re still here…”

Qing Shan didn’t answer. After a pause, he lowered his head, staring at Yi Wansan’s feet, and said: “You didn’t change your shoes.”

Yi Wansan was taken aback.

Qing Shan said, “Just now, when picking up the wallet, I saw your shoes. Your face is bandaged, and you’ve changed your clothes, but you didn’t change your shoes. City people’s shoes are different from what we wear. I remember your shoes.”

A chill ran up Yi Wansan’s spine.

Indeed, after Yan Hong Sha had dug him out of the ground, his clothes had been soaked in mud and water, so he had found spare clothes in Luo Ren’s car to change into. But the shoes—he was still wearing the same pair.

Shen Gun had gone to bed early, sitting cross-legged on the kang bed.

In recent days, sharing the kang with Yin Erma, he had always felt cramped. Now, suddenly, having so much extra space felt strangely empty.

In front of him, he had lit a white candle with a small mirror placed before it. Very carefully, he pricked his palm with a needle tip, squeezed out a tiny bit of blood, and drew a perfect circle on the mirror’s surface.

Moving the candle closer to the mirror, he called out: “Old Yin? Erma? Brother Yin?”

This method was learned from a good friend. When that girl had performed it years ago, her technique wasn’t refined, and she had been possessed. It was thanks to Shen Gun using all his skills that he had helped her return to normal.

Before Yin Erma died, he must have had something to say—an unfulfilled wish preventing him from departing to the west. He would likely come out for a visit.

“Brother Yin? Erma? We’re all so familiar now. If you have something to say, just speak up!”

…

By the time a whole candle had burned down, leaving a large pool of wax on the kang, there hadn’t been the slightest abnormality.

Shen Gun, annoyed, pulled the light cord and collapsed onto the kang.

In the darkness, he stared at the ceiling of the room. Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the dark, and the outlines of the ceiling and the main beam began to emerge.

It was a peculiarity that the houses here still had main beams. Modern city houses weren’t built this way anymore. Phrases like “a gentleman on the beam” could only be understood conceptually now.

When Yin Erma was dying, he had mumbled many words. Shen Gun had only clearly heard one: “niang” (mother/lady).

It was unlikely he was thinking of his deceased mother.

Niang…

This word had many combinations: guniang (girl), qinniang (mother), houniang (stepmother), daniang (aunt/elder woman)…

Daniang?

Shen Gun suddenly had a jolt of realization and sat up on the kang.

Yin Erma was a country person. His pronunciation carried a dialect and a rural accent, often not distinguishing between “l” and “n.” The “niang,” he said—could it have been “liang” (beam)? Da liang (main beam)?

Shen Gun’s heart began to pound. He turned on the light again, placed a stool on the kang, shakily stood on it, and grasped the main beam.

The beam was covered with a thick layer of dust. Shen Gun’s hand felt around on the beam surface and suddenly touched a groove. Inadvertently pressing down, there was a light click, and a cover plate sprang up.