Angry? Yes, he was angry. If the schemer hadn’t been so ruthless—killing someone and taking the chain—would he have ended up in this predicament?

Jiang Lian felt he had stumbled into a complete mess: the mirage pearl was destroyed, he was implicated in a murder case, his companions were being held hostage, and he was at someone else’s mercy, forced to help find a chain…

He raised his right hand, turning it back and forth as he examined it twice, like an elder scolding an unfilial descendant: “How worthless can you be?”

Of all the things he could have taken, he had to grab Meng Qianzi’s chain. One careless snatch had created an eternal grudge, offending a woman with both significant status and a petty disposition.

Though the back mountain was close to Ba Hang Village, villagers rarely ventured there. The village had been established by carving out a space in the mountain hollow, essentially placing homes at the edge of tigers’ and wolves’ jaws. The back mountain led to deep wilderness without human tracks. In the old days, during winter when heavy snow made food scarce, starving tigers and wolves would often approach the village through this path to attack people, forcing villagers to set traps around the settlement and patrol the perimeter regularly with hoes and chopping knives.

In the early years after Liberation, consecutive periods of war and banditry occurred, and these beasts joined in the chaos. Reports of tiger and wolf attacks were especially numerous in each county. After these incidents were reported, the 47th Army of the People’s Liberation Army, which was responsible for bandit suppression in Western Hunan, happened to be equipped with fast horses, quick guns, and excellent equipment. They simultaneously eliminated tigers and wolves, even employing 60mm mortars. This was far more efficient than the Meishan Tiger Craftsmen, and after a thorough purge, the beasts were said to be nearly extinct.

But Western Hunan had many mountains and dense forests, so it was impossible to say whether some survivors might be hiding there, reproducing. Therefore, local people taking their goods to market or traveling would only use the major and minor mountain paths where many people went, and rarely would anyone be inspired to blaze new trails.

When Jiang Lian first entered the village, Old Ga had repeatedly emphasized the dangers of the forest, which was why he carried wolf spray when entering the mountains on rainy nights. The forest was the tigers’ habitat, and as an outsider, his activities there were already disturbing their territory. If he also brought weapons like knives or guns to deal with them, it would be too domineering.

The mountain path was covered with messy footprints, likely left by the Mountain Ghosts during their investigation. These people didn’t work carelessly—the areas they had carefully sifted through probably wouldn’t have anything overlooked.

Jiang Lian wasn’t satisfied and continued deeper into the forest.

The path ahead was strewn with loose rocks and piles of rotting branches and fallen leaves, becoming increasingly difficult to traverse. But this wasn’t a problem for him. First, his movements were excellent and his steps light, allowing him to leap and gain momentum at any time, making his pace at least one or two times faster than ordinary people. Second, from his several trips in and out on rainy nights, he was quite familiar with the conditions of the path—the difficulty was that the flame of his torch was growing weaker. After all, it wasn’t an oil-soaked torch but a hastily grabbed stick from under the cooking pot. Its burning endurance was limited, and the flame was gradually diminishing, flickering like a will-o’-the-wisp that could extinguish at any moment.

Without adequate lighting, going further would be futile. As Jiang Lian was hesitating whether to turn back, from some unknown direction came a faint, strange howling.

The sound was whimpering yet shrill, like an immature dog straining its voice in wild barking, creating an inexplicable discomfort and unease in one’s heart.

Jiang Lian’s hair stood on end in an instant.

During his previous mountain trips, probably because of strong winds and heavy rain, wild beasts were unwilling to leave their lairs, so he had never encountered any. When passing through forests and crossing ridges, he had never felt afraid. Yet now, with no wind or rain, everything silent, and even a faint sliver of moonlight hanging in the sky—a time that could be described as tranquil and peaceful—he felt as if he stood in a windstorm, his whole body chilled.

Jiang Lian stopped his steps and turned to leave, when his gaze caught something that sparked his curiosity.

About ten steps ahead, at the base of an old pine tree several arm spans in circumference, there were white streaks crisscrossing in all directions, as if someone had randomly smeared it with plaster powder.

Strange—with such noticeable coloring, how had he never seen it before? Could it be freshly applied?

With the torch still providing some light, Jiang Lian’s curiosity got the better of him, and he went closer to look.

In the torchlight, he saw clearly: those so-called white streaks were claw marks. The scratching force had been so great that the outer bark had peeled off, exposing the lighter-colored inner phloem.

Jiang Lian touched the claw marks with his hand. They felt slightly damp, indicating they were fresh. He stepped back to examine the area around the tree. Sure enough, there were many paw prints in the mud. They weren’t large, looking very much like dog footprints, and there were more than one animal.

Wild dogs?

In Jiang Lian’s impression, trees served dogs mainly as urination aids. Why would so many dogs frantically scratch a tree?

Jiang Lian looked upward.

About seven or eight meters high, on a thick branch growing from the side, something hung limply. At first, Jiang Lian thought it was an old monkey—some monkeys, when they die, hang from branches like kelp drying in the sun.

But he quickly realized it was a person.

And a woman at that.

Old Ga was drinking by the fire pit, his eyes blurry with intoxication, when he suddenly saw Jiang Lian return carrying a blood-covered woman who resembled a gourd. He was so shocked that his mouth hung half-open, frozen in place.

Jiang Lian glared at him. “What are you gawking at? Help save her!”

Oh, right. Old Ga hurriedly got up, bustling into the house in a flurry. He pulled out a straw mat and spread it on the floor, then helped Jiang Lian place the woman on it. Jiang Lian, not bothering to explain further, took a few steps upstairs to get the first aid kit.

When he came back down, he saw Old Ga staring blankly at the woman.

This old man was truly unreliable. Jiang Lian didn’t bother scolding him and quickly rummaged through the first aid kit for scissors, bandages, and gauze. Old Ga finally came to his senses and blurted out: “I recognize this woman.”

“What?”

“I recognize her,” Old Ga was quite certain. “Today, when I was eating in the county town, she was sitting at the table next to mine.”

Jiang Lian was annoyed. “She’s your acquaintance, and you’re just standing there watching?”

Old Ga finally snapped out of his daze. His movements became nimble as he brought over a basin of hot water with a towel. The woman had both scratch wounds and knife wounds. The scratch marks covered her entire body in streaks, tearing her clothes to shreds. The knife wounds were difficult to assess completely, except for the most obvious one on her abdomen—any deeper, and she would have been disemboweled.

Jiang Lian cut open her clothes and first used a wrung-out towel to clean herself. Perhaps his movements aggravated her wounds, for the woman suddenly opened her eyes in extreme pain.

Initially, her gaze was confused, but it quickly turned to extreme terror. With a hoarse voice, she shouted: “Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me, I was just passing by, just passing through…”

She was already so badly injured; how could she afford to struggle more? Jiang Lian quickly held her shoulders, using strength to steady her body, his tone gentle: “Don’t be afraid, you’re safe now.”

The woman looked at him, trembling. Perhaps seeing that this man had a kind face and meant no harm, she stopped shaking so violently. Then, gradually, her gaze became unfocused, and she fainted again.

Only then could Jiang Lian free his hands to clean and bandage her wounds one by one. Some of the wounds required stitches, but that work was too delicate for him to manage.

Old Ga helped on the side, offering opinions.

“Ma Biaozi—she encountered Ma Biaozi.”

Jiang Lian continued working without pause. “What’s that?”

“Jackals, also called Miao wolves. Even tigers fear them. As the old saying goes, when Ma Biaozi is in the mountains, tigers dare not claim kingship.”

Miao wolves…

Now he remembered. His godfather had mentioned these ferocious beasts, saying they weren’t large, about the size of dogs, with yellow fur and horse-like faces. Their calls were eerie wails like ghost cries, particularly spine-chilling.

A single Miao wolf wasn’t particularly frightening. What made them terrifying was their group activity and coordinated attacks. They were extremely agile, with sharp claws and teeth, and remarkably intelligent. Five or six Ma Biaozi would dare to surround and attack a tiger, employing tactics: usually several would circle and bite, while one would seize an opportunity to jump on the tiger’s back, claw out its eyes, then bite its rear, pulling out intestines through the anus and eating the internal organs. Within minutes, they could devour everything, leaving only bones and skin.

How absurd to think about it—the tiger, king of the jungle with its mighty roar, would tremble in fear at the sight of Ma Biaozi.

These creatures not only dared to provoke tigers but also often massacred wild boars. Killing cattle, horses, and domestic dogs was trivial for them. There hadn’t been reports of them attacking humans, but one couldn’t be sure, after all, they were carnivorous beasts. In the old days, capturing tigers in the Western Hunan mountains wasn’t particularly difficult, but even the most experienced hunters never caught a Ma Biaozi, saying they were “too fast” and “cunning to the point of being supernatural.”

No wonder she was in the tree. Encountering a pack of Ma Biaozi, not climbing a tree would have been certain death.

Old Ga sighed with admiration: “Impressive—to escape from the jaws of Ma Biaozi. Truly impressive. This woman is remarkable.”

Jiang Lian remained silent.

She had knife wounds. No matter how formidable Ma Biaozi was, they couldn’t possibly wield knives.

During those few seconds of consciousness, she had desperately begged for mercy, insisting she was just “passing by.”

What kind of person would not spare even a woman merely passing through? Was this connected to Liu Sheng’s murder? Thinking more boldly: could the one who injured her and the one who killed Liu Sheng be… the same person?

A phone rang, accompanied by vibration. Old Ga looked around, his gaze stopping at the back pocket of Jiang Lian’s pants. “Young Master Lian, you have a phone call.”

Jiang Lian made an excuse about needing to take the call outside, leaving the cleanup work to Old Ga.

It wasn’t a call but an alarm he had set, reminding him it was time to check in with his godfather.

Jiang Lian climbed onto the roof, leaned against the satellite dish, and initiated a video call request. When it wasn’t immediately accepted, Jiang Lian wasn’t impatient. He looked toward the slowly swirling milky night mist on the opposite mountain peak, mentally calculating the process on the other end.

The phone was with the caregiver, who would first enter the room to wake his godfather. It’s often said that the older one gets, the less sleep one needs, but his godfather was exactly the opposite. After passing his hundredth birthday, he spent the vast majority of each day in slumber. Jiang Lian did not doubt that his godfather would one day sleep eternally, passing peacefully and quietly.

After waking his godfather, the caregiver would tell him that Young Master Lian was calling, then secure the connected phone on a stand, move it in front of his godfather, adjust it to the best viewing angle, and finally leave the room, giving both parties privacy for their conversation.

Sure enough, after waiting a while, an image appeared on the screen.

As usual, the first thing he saw was his godfather’s extremely aged face. Gravity had pulled his eyebrows, nostrils, and the corners of his lips into deep downward curves. His eyelids drooped so low they covered most of his eyes, with only a murky light visible through the slits. The only upward-pointing wrinkles on his face were the eye bag lines, one on each side like hooks, containing the swollen, drooping eye flesh.

Every time he saw his godfather’s face, Jiang Lian became less enthusiastic about living to a hundred, thinking that if he died in his prime, that wouldn’t be so bad either.

Kuang Tongsheng’s thick, layered eyelids lifted slightly as he murmured, “Lian-zi…”

When he was little, Kuang Tongsheng called him “Little Lian-zi,” and as he grew older, it became just “Lian-zi.” Although it was a bit awkward, he got used to it—Kuang Tongsheng liked calling people this way, such as calling Kuang Meiying “Ying-zi” and Wei Biao “Biao-zi.”

But today, the term “Lian-zi” made him uncomfortable. Jiang Lian thought for a moment before realizing it was because Meng Qianzi had repeatedly demanded the “chain” (链子, lian-zi) from him.

Hmm, “Meng Qianzi demands lian-zi from Lian-zi”—truly an excellent first line of a couplet, though he didn’t know what the matching second line should be.

Jiang Lian wanted to laugh.

He turned his face slightly, not wanting Kuang Tongsheng to see his injuries.

Actually, with Kuang Tongsheng’s failing eyesight, he couldn’t see anyway. He was just trying his best to maintain the posture of “eyes open” and “looking”: “Oh, it’s so dark out there.”

“That’s how it is in the mountains—it gets dark early.”

This ordinary remark suddenly triggered Kuang Tongsheng’s early memories: “In the mountain hollow, pitch black all around. My master asked if I was a ‘red flower child,’ and said that if I could bring back a woman’s embroidered shoe from the graveyard, proving my courage, he would accept me as his disciple…”

“At the crack of dawn, my master told me to find a shop, find the god of fortune’s room—no threshold, no windows. The god of fortune opens the shop, the owner wants to get rich…”

Jiang Lian continued listening, occasionally making sounds of acknowledgment. Kuang Tongsheng was too old; his speech wandered like wildfire. One sentence might be about one topic, the next would be miles away. You couldn’t remind him—if you did, he would get stuck, like a computer freezing, unable to recover for a long time. It was best to just listen; eventually, he would find his way back to the point.

“My master said, ‘Bad, bad! Women are the most unclean. If your virginity is broken by a woman, the fire in your body will be gone…'”

Kuang Tongsheng began coughing loudly, his drooping facial flesh shaking violently. After finishing, he paused for a moment, having already forgotten what he had just said, as if trying to figure out where to begin. Fortunately, this time he finally connected: “Are Ying-zi and the others doing well?”

“They’re fine.”

“Everything going smoothly?”

Everyone was present, with no missing arms or legs, so it could be considered smooth. If he said it wasn’t smooth, he would have to explain—and with such a long story, his godfather would likely fall asleep again before he even got started.

“Smoothly.”

“That… that box, any progress?”

Jiang Lian smiled slightly. “Soon.”

Just as he finished speaking, throughout the mountains, near and far, a fine, dense sound gradually arose, like the patter of yellow sand on eaves.

The rain was falling again.