Speaking of Yin Erma, no one was more excited than Shen Gun—after all, he was an acquaintance.

He found a blank sheet of paper and, using the large map hanging on the wall, began writing and drawing.

“Yin Erma lives in Yin Family Village. That place is quite far from the Hangu Pass scenic area, but it’s still located on what I believe was Laozi’s route after leaving Hangu Pass.”

“It’s situated south of the Qinling Mountains and north of the loess slopes. Standing on the hilltop, you can faintly see the Yellow River.”

He casually drew a circle on the paper to represent Yin Family Village: “Yin Family Village is very small, with only about a dozen households scattered across the hilltop. Yin Erma is not yet seventy years old. If we follow the generational naming scheme and he’s the third generation, assuming twenty to thirty years per generation, the events in the Water Shadows must have happened over 120 years ago.”

“At that time, the village would have been even smaller, the surroundings more desolate.”

Luo Ren nodded: “So the marketplace in the Water Shadows couldn’t have been Yin Family Village, but rather a larger nearby town where villagers from the surrounding areas would go for market days.”

Shen Gun agreed, drawing a larger circle outside the first one: “With Yin Family Village as the center, it could be in any direction within this area. Adding the clues about Long Town and the Wei surname narrows our search area considerably. Little Wanwan will be able to find it!”

It felt like the dawn breaking, bringing a sense of relief.

Mu Dai grinned: “Then you call Wan Fenghuo—your calls are free.”

Shen Gun missed this subtle hint completely and happily went outside to make the call.

Luo Ren held back his laughter, thinking: She’s so practical.

They decided to depart for Fog Town at noon the next day. It was getting late, so everyone returned to the bar to pack.

As they were going downstairs, they saw Qingmu coming up. With his imminent return to his country, he probably had much to discuss with Luo Ren.

Qingmu bid farewell to Mu Dai, still very polite, with a slight bow: “Miss Mu Dai, I entrust Luo to your care from now on. Please look after him.”

He wasn’t familiar with the others, merely nodding in greeting. Yi Wansan glanced at Huo Zihong, who seemed a bit uncomfortable but followed along with the pleasantries: “Safe travels. If we visit Japan someday, perhaps we’ll meet again.”

…

On the way back, Mu Dai deliberately walked slowly, gradually falling behind until she was alone.

She looked up at the window of Luo Ren’s room. The light was bright and clear, and she could faintly see moving shadows.

What might Qingmu and Luo Ren be discussing?

Mu Dai felt somewhat melancholic. Brothers who had faced life and death together in the jungle were now, with everything settled, about to part ways to different places. Two countries—not too far, yet not close—and though they might stay in regular contact, their focus would gradually shift, fading into occasional holiday greetings.

Tilting her head further back, through the lights close to the ground’s surface, she could see scattered stars in the night sky.

People say life is a line, sometimes intersecting with others, running parallel. Mu Dai didn’t think so. She felt each person was like a tiny celestial body in the vast universe, with billions of star streams flowing around them.

Everyone originally has a predetermined orbit, imagined and planned, but the universe is too chaotic. Meteors, shooting stars, collapsing stars, and forming black holes—how many asteroids crash into you violently, leaving you at a loss, instantly changing course, wandering through infinity, brushing past countless travelers, until suddenly, gravity stabilizes, bodies draw close, and a small star system forms.

Each person is a star in the night, each relationship is the gravitational pull between celestial bodies. The balance, turbulence, scattering, and reunion of star systems closely resemble a human lifetime.

What is fate? Perhaps it’s the countless disorders and chaos in the universe.

Suddenly, Pin Ting’s voice came from behind: “Sister Mu Dai.”

Mu Dai turned around, her brow unconsciously furrowing: “It’s dangerous for you to come out alone. Does Uncle Zheng know?”

Though she wasn’t much older than Pin Ting, perhaps because of Pin Ting’s illness and the period when she had been in a daze, Mu Dai always felt she was still a little girl who needed protection in every way.

Pin Ting said, “I’m just taking a few steps and going right back. It’s fine.”

That was true. From here, she could see the light in Luo Ren’s room, and it was only a few steps to the main door.

“Why were you looking for me?”

Pin Ting didn’t speak, just looked at her for a long time before saying: “I envy you.”

“Envy me for what?”

“For being with Luo Xiao Dao.” She paused, then bit her lip and asked: “Are you very proud of yourself?”

Mu Dai found it amusing, treating it as childish talk. After a moment, she walked over, took Pin Ting’s arm, and said: “Come, let me take you back.”

Pin Ting couldn’t resist as Mu Dai pulled her along, stumbling as they walked, all the way to the half-open door.

Mu Dai pushed her inside before letting go. The two stood on opposite sides of the door, with light falling on Pin Ting’s profile, making the girl appear especially forlorn.

Mu Dai looked at her hand. Luo Ren always called her “little girl” and said “a gust of wind could blow her over.” Those words would be more fitting for Pin Ting. Mu Dai felt that while she was thin, beneath her flesh, her bones were still hard, and her punches could still cause pain. But Pin Ting was so delicate that when she had held her arm just now, she didn’t dare use any strength. Pin Ting was so soft that it was hard to be stern with her.

She said: “You envy me for being with Luo Xiao Dao, but you’re just envying the position beside him. If it weren’t me in that position, it would be Zhang San, Li Si, or Wang Ermazi. What is there for me to be proud of?”

“When you envy me someday because I’m Mu Dai, then I’ll feel flattered.”

With that, she closed the door and turned to leave.

Of course, she wasn’t proud. Not only was she not proud, but she felt somewhat indignant.

—Why doesn’t anyone envy Luo Xiao Dao for being with me? I think I’m quite excellent too…

Returning to the bar, the lights were still on. Shen Gun was in the corner, flipping through “Zi Bu Yu.” Cao Yanhua and Yi Wansan had already packed their bags, which sat in front of the bar counter. Yi Wansan was holding a pet carrier, discussing with Cao Yanhua: “This is for Liberation. What do you think?”

Mu Dai was puzzled: “Is Cao Liberation coming too?”

Cao Yanhua’s face was full of worry and helplessness: “I don’t dare leave it alone, Master. It’s violent.”

True enough.

Mu Dai sat across from Shen Gun and tapped the table: “Have you figured anything out?”

Shen Gun set the hardcover book upright on the table, resting his chin on the spine. It looked as if the book had sprouted a human head: “What does this ‘hide’ really mean?”

The book was new, probably purchased after Leopard entered the country, and there were no marks or annotations throughout. So this abrupt appearance of “hide” seemed to hold special significance.

“Didn’t Luo Ren tell you? It means to conceal or to hide.”

Shen Gun lowered his voice: “Don’t you think this word is meaningful?”

“How so?”

“Ya Feng and Leopard are human, not ominous slips. After being possessed by the ominous slips, they experienced a kind of perception and convergence, receiving some information from the slips.”

That’s right, everyone believed so.

“But Leopard is different from Ya Feng. First, Leopard’s ancestors committed all seven evil deeds. As you all speculated, with this ‘seven,’ something might have been activated. Second, even before being possessed, Leopard wasn’t a good person—her level of malice far exceeded Ya Feng’s.”

Mu Dai agreed with this assessment.

Seeing that Mu Dai was listening carefully, Shen Gun couldn’t help feeling pleased: “So Leopard might have received more direct guidance from the ominous slips. Otherwise, why would a Southeast Asian of Chinese descent buy a semi-classical Chinese book like ‘Zi Bu Yu’ immediately upon entering the country? She certainly doesn’t look like a literature enthusiast.”

He spoke as if he had met Leopard.

Mu Dai hummed in agreement: “So?”

What was Shen Gun trying to say?

“This book is information from the ominous slips to her, and she wrote ‘hide’ on this book. I’m thinking that perhaps this ‘hide’ is another message transmitted to her from the ominous slips.”

Mu Dai’s heart pounded, and her voice involuntarily lowered: “So what message do you think it conveyed to her?”

“That the seventh ominous slip has been hidden.”

Mu Dai felt the muscles in her face involuntarily twitch.

The next moment, she slammed her palm on the table: “Did I need you to tell me that? Don’t I know it’s hidden? If it weren’t hidden, we would have found it long ago!”

With that, she stood up, kicking the stool far away, and went upstairs by herself.

Behind her, Shen Gun’s dissatisfied muttering could be heard: “What’s wrong with Little Pocket? She’s becoming less and less adorable…”

Before going to bed, Mu Dai packed her luggage, which included many fancy clothes adorned with kittens, bunnies, and elephant heads. She picked them up and looked at them, unconsciously frowning.

She held one up to the mirror—a sweet pastel color that contrasted with her deep, calm eyes. Her lips were pressed together, eyebrows slightly arched. She pulled down the neckline, revealing the cold, distant dagger tattoo on her collarbone. When she wasn’t smiling, every subtle body language seemed to say: Stay away from me.

Mu Dai dragged a chair in front of the mirror and stared at herself for a long time, even deliberately making a cute expression.

It seemed that no matter what she did, it wasn’t the same flavor as before.

She hugged those clothes to her chest, buried her face in them, and held them for a long time, murmuring: “Little Pocket.”

She felt melancholic, as if bidding farewell to a past that would never respond again.

Then, holding her pillow and blanket, she opened the closet door in the corner of the room and crawled inside.

Indulging in old habits—she used to love sleeping in closets.

Within two minutes, the closet door was pushed open with a clatter.

It was… suffocating.

She pulled her pillow down at an angle, left the closet door wide open, and closed her eyes again.

This time, she finally fell asleep.

She still couldn’t sleep soundly. The closet was certainly not a bed, and it felt cramped and uncomfortable. In her hazy state, she heard movement in the room.

She opened her eyes.

How strange—a thick fog had risen in the room, swirling and dense, like that night in Fog Town.

There was a rustling sound and whispers, continuously coming from the invisible fog.

Mu Dai’s eyes widened.

Vaguely, she saw several tall, thin shadows, disproportionately slender, hidden in the fog, snickering and whispering.

Mu Dai knew this was a dream, probably a nightmare.

She struggled to move her body, trying to wake up. The sounds would come near then fade away, sometimes seeming right beside her ear. In a moment of irritation, she shouted: “Who’s there!”

The shadowy figures immediately became alarmed, seeming to push one another. Mu Dai heard urgent, chaotic whispers.

—She discovered us.

—Hide, hide.

—She won’t find us.

—Don’t worry, she won’t find us…

Those voices and shadows gradually faded into the fog, the night, and the empty room.

At breakfast the next day, Mu Dai sat at the table with two enormous dark circles under her eyes, glaring at Shen Gun as soon as she sat down. It was all his fault for giving her nightmares.

Shen Gun was engrossed in his meal, not even exchanging a single glance with her.

Instead, it was Huo Zihong who stared at her: “Didn’t sleep well?”

As she spoke, she placed a soft-yolk fried egg on Mu Dai’s plate: “Eat more. This trip back to honor your master will involve many tasks to handle, keeping you busy… I heard you’ve taken Cao Yanhua as a junior disciple, so it’s appropriate for him to go too. Is Yi Wansan going as well?”

At the bar counter, Yi Wansan, who was making coffee, immediately tilted his ear toward them.

As a worker who owed thirteen thousand yuan, he always struggled to explain his absences when he returned. Previously, he had shared this burden with Fat Cao, but this time was different—Cao Yanhua had transformed into a presumptuous junior disciple, with every right to go.

Only he remained, without any reasonable excuse.

Mu Dai chewed her fried egg unhurriedly: “Auntie Hong, Senior Brother, and I can’t manage it all alone. Think about it: the funeral ceremony will need tables set for meals, someone to handle the guests coming and going. Though Luo Ren is accompanying me, his wound hasn’t fully healed, so he shouldn’t overexert himself.”

Huo Zihong sighed: “That’s true. For this task, Yi Wansan is the right person. He’s quick-witted and smooth-talking—he can handle it.”

Really? Being praised out of the blue like this, Yi Wansan was a bit surprised and self-satisfied. Before his pride could fade, hurried footsteps came from upstairs. Looking up, he saw Huo Zihong coming down, her eyes fixed on him like awls.

What a curse! Yi Wansan wanted to slap himself twice: It was all his fault for meddling. If Er Huo was heartbroken, let her be heartbroken! Next time, even if she went to jump off the Great Wall after a breakup, he wouldn’t get involved.

He pushed the coffee cup across the counter, thinking: This firecracker is about to explode.

Sure enough, Huo Zihong’s voice was grim, heavy with gunpowder: “One stroke? Today, you’re updating with one stroke? You used to update character by character, and now you’re updating by strokes?”

At the dining table, everyone’s gaze turned toward them: with food to eat and drama to watch, no one wanted to miss the opportunity.

Yi Wansan forced himself to remain calm: “Er Huo, look carefully, this is a comma, a comma.”

Huo Zihong was no longer falling for his tricks: “Punctuation counts too? Today, you will update a full paragraph for me, You must update a paragraph.”

Yi Wansan cleared his throat, deciding to tell the truth.

“Er Huo, I see your spirits are quite high. I think you’ve recovered well enough, so let’s end it here.”

Huo Zihong stared at him: “Did you never actually write any article? Were you just fooling me?”

Isn’t it obvious? Of course, he hadn’t written anything.

Yi Wansan chose a more tactful approach: “The focus wasn’t on the article but on helping you overcome your low point. Look how spirited you are now, ready to rebel with a knife…”

Huo Zihong stared at him, and as she did, her eyes suddenly reddened.

Yi Wansan’s heart jolted, and he dared not speak.

He heard her say, “What kind of person are you? This is bullying.”

With that, she angrily walked to the center of the bar, not sitting at the dining table but choosing a random table. She plopped down, laid her head on the table, looking utterly furious.

No one spoke. In the silence, Mu Dai took a pancake, wrapped it around a fried dough stick and pickled vegetables, grabbed a napkin, and went to sit beside Huo Zihong.

Huo Zihong accepted the pancake, hastily wiped her eyes with the napkin, and her eyes were completely red like a bullied little rabbit.

Mu Dai said, “Yi Wansan, you must write something today. Even if you make it up, make something up for Hong Sha.”

Cao Yanhua was delighted—seeing Yi Wansan at a disadvantage was something he thoroughly enjoyed: “Brother San San, you must write. Not writing affects our unity.”

Shen Gun loved watching the drama unfold, grinning from ear to ear. Even Huo Zihong, who usually stayed out of trouble, said: “Yi Wansan, look how upset you’ve made Hong Sha. What’s wrong with writing something?”

What’s wrong with writing something? They could talk easily because they weren’t the ones who had to do it. Yi Wansan stubbornly protested: “I’m not a writer! This requires inspiration! How can I just write on command?”

His voice was loud and forceful, overwhelming all opposing opinions.

Zhang Shu snorted, finished his bowl of rice porridge, and got up to clear the dishes, muttering: “Now he says he has no inspiration. Back when he was posting online, wasn’t he quite fluent…”