After a while, even Meng Qianzi heard it.

She raised her head, looking around, then slowly stood up and asked, “What’s that sound?”

In a place like this, there shouldn’t be any sounds, especially ones resembling insects—she approached those crystalline stone flowers, suspecting tiny creatures might be hiding inside.

The flame flickered, making those two “pupils” appear even more fluid. The outermost layer showed signs of gentle trembling, indicating it was about to “drip oil.” That buzzing sound grew increasingly frequent, making Shen Gun’s ears twitch occasionally, almost unable to discern the direction: one moment it seemed to come from above, the next moment from behind.

Meng Qianzi suddenly exclaimed, “Hmm? Why is there mist rising from that stone?”

Stone?

Besides the one they had just collided with, there weren’t any other noticeable stones around, Shen Gun thought as he instinctively looked down.

Indeed!

A layer of light flesh-red mist had already formed over that flesh-red stone, just like colored water evaporating when heated, rising as colored mist—how strange, they were currently burning that “pupil,” not the stone, so why was it producing mist?

Shen Gun curiously bent down to look.

Just as he drew closer, he suddenly noticed that beneath the layer of light flesh-red mist, several slightly darker spots were flying upward—and that faint sound of fluttering wings returned.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

A flash of insight crossed Shen Gun’s mind, and in that brief moment, he managed to react, shouting, “It’s alive! This isn’t a stone, it’s alive!”

In his panic, he no longer cared about burning the pupil and stumbled backward hastily. Jiang Lian’s heart tightened as he quickly retreated as well.

But the burning had already gone on long enough, and the temperature was just right. The center of both “pupils” had begun to protrude outward, like skin unable to withstand heat, forming a swollen and trembling blister, needing only the slightest external force to burst instantly.

All three stared at the “mist-emitting” stone.

Sweat formed on Jiang Lian’s palms: this stone, which initially was indeed just a stone with a shape resembling a primitive crystal cluster, how had it suddenly come “alive”? What had triggered it?

Temperature?

Surely this burning stick wouldn’t raise the temperature of such a large space, would it?

Or perhaps… that sweet fragrance?

Shen Gun’s heart was pounding like a drum.

It’s like… cordyceps? No, no.

Although some claim cordyceps is an insect in winter and a plant in summer, sometimes still and sometimes moving, in reality, it’s just larvae infected by the cordyceps fungus. By the time the fungal spores grow, the insect is already dead, merely serving as nutrients.

Coral… coral polyps? Something like that.

Isn’t there a theory that coral is formed by countless coral polyps clustered together? More precisely, it’s the skeletal fossils of dead coral polyps, while living polyps continue to reproduce and secrete on top.

Even as he felt chilled to the bone, with chattering teeth, he still managed to offer his insights: “These… these are many tiny flying insects, previously in a state of hibernation… no, torpor. Somehow, they’ve been activated. When in torpor, their bodies are rigid, clustered together like a stone… Miss Meng, has the Mountain Ghost ever recorded such creatures?”

Jiang Lian’s scalp tingled a bit, but hearing Shen Gun speak so rigorously—his upper and lower teeth chattering like that—while still remembering to correct “hibernation” to “torpor,” he couldn’t help but feel amused.

Meng Qianzi said, “No, it hasn’t, but inside mountain rocks, honestly, it’s another world altogether. Finding unfamiliar creatures shouldn’t be surprising.”

Hearing her speak so calmly, Shen Gun felt somewhat reassured, thinking Miss Meng’s composure meant things must be under control—little did he know that Meng Qianzi rarely panicked; even in the most bizarre situations, she spoke with confidence, although sometimes there was neither bamboo nor even a blade of grass to support her.

Just then, the “pupil” on the right side of the mountain wall made an extremely soft bursting sound and broke open. A highly viscous, dark green, oily substance slowly slid downward.

The sweet fragrance in the air grew even stronger, almost sickening. Soon, the “pupil” on the left side also burst open, with two uneven streaks of oil hanging down, making the mountain wall look even more like a face.

The flesh-red stone had now become a large, constantly writhing mass that seemed ready to surge upward at any moment.

Shen Gun suddenly felt a shiver run through his body, every hair on his arms and legs standing on end. He swallowed and asked, “Miss Meng, this… if we retreat now, would we still make it?”

He rarely backed down from challenges, but somehow, he seemed to have detected some dangerous aura, and unease quickly spread throughout his chest.

Meng Qianzi ignored him, holding her breath and staring at the large flesh-red stone: pupils dripping oil, tongue moving wildly—the pupils had started dripping oil, and this bizarre stone must be the wildly moving “tongue.” Every phrase now matched up.

Who knows how much time passed? Perhaps only a few seconds—people tend to lose track of time when extremely tense—when suddenly, with a violent heave, that stone flipped upward instantly, transforming into a tongue several meters long. The buzzing sound of countless fluttering wings rose and fell continuously, drowning out all other sounds.

All that remained was the overwhelming buzz, buzz buzz.

The term Shen Gun used, “torpor,” was indeed fitting: this tongue truly seemed to have experienced a long torpor, now seeing the light of day again and needing to stretch its limbs—it turned over up and down, swept left and right wildly, creating gusts of wind wherever it passed. Occasionally, it brushed against the stone wall, making a dense scratching sound, after which those stone hair crystals turned to powder, drifting to the ground.

As large as the stone chamber was, with this towering monstrosity present, it felt cramped. The three had to remain vigilant, crouching and moving constantly to avoid being in its path.

Jiang Lian’s face changed color; this tongue formed by countless flying insects appeared quite destructive: the stone hair was one thing, but even the crystal flowers, with hardness comparable to crystal, had instantly turned to powder.

He recalled the legendary army ants: massive swarms moving like tides, leaving nothing alive in their wake.

After a while, the tongue finally settled down, its root still connected to its original position while its body floated in midair, curled up. The entire tongue was flesh-red, with less dense insects at the edges giving it a lighter color, like misty and indistinct fog.

The two “pupils” continued to drip oil. The three people and the tongue faced off, seemingly testing each other. Jiang Lian softly asked Meng Qianzi, “Will your ‘mountain beast repellent’ still work here?”

Meng Qianzi wasn’t entirely certain: “It should… I think.”

No matter how small mosquitoes and insects might be, since they’re in the mountains, they should be classified as “mountain beasts.” Besides, as a Mountain Ghost, if she came down to extract the gallbladder only to be attacked, that wouldn’t make sense…

As soon as she finished speaking, the tongue arched and rushed toward the three of them.

Fortunately, they were prepared. Meng Qianzi rolled away, and when she stabilized herself, she saw that Jiang Lian and Shen Gun had also evaded: although Shen Gun’s martial skills were lacking, his ability to dodge quickly was barely adequate. However, this meant the three were now separated.

Meng Qianzi said, “Be careful.”

She estimated the tongue would split into three parts to engage each of them separately.

Unexpectedly, the tongue arched again, twisted in midair, and headed straight for Shen Gun.

Damn, was this tongue specifically targeting the weakest one? How did it determine that among the three, Shen Gun had the lowest combat ability?

Meng Qianzi had no time to ponder as she leaped forward to save him. Jiang Lian, being closer, moved faster than her and reached the terrified Shen Gun first, pulling him away—the tongue’s sharp edge directly “licked” the crystal flowers on the mountain wall, creating another shower of powdered fragments.

Jiang Lian shouted to Meng Qianzi: “It’s faster!”

This statement seemed disjointed, but Meng Qianzi understood: this strike from the tongue was quicker than the previous one, suggesting it was still in its awakening stage from torpor. This wasn’t good news—if it fully recovered, evading its attacks would become even more difficult. They needed to get past this ordeal while its movements were still sluggish.

The good news was that these flying insects were indeed “avoiding” her: when she had just reached out to pull Shen Gun, she saw the edge of the tongue closest to her quickly retract.

Meng Qianzi wanted to have Jiang Lian and Shen Gun take cover behind her, but before she could speak, the third strike came.

It was aimed at Jiang Lian and Shen Gun.

Jiang Lian’s hand was still pulling Shen Gun. Seeing the third strike approaching and with no time to think, he gritted his teeth and rolled sharply along the ground with Shen Gun to avoid it.

Meng Qianzi observed everything and suddenly had a strange thought. She shouted: “Don’t save him, push him away!”

Both Jiang Lian and Shen Gun were startled. Meng Qianzi’s tone was stern as she shouted at Jiang Lian again: “Now! Right now!”

Jiang Lian hesitated briefly, but seeing her unusual expression and tone, he knew there must be a reason. Gritting his teeth, he pushed Shen Gun away. As he tried to stand, he suddenly noticed that at the base of the tongue, there was an area with a different color.

Shen Gun had managed to barely dodge the first strike, but later became disoriented and could only run with Jiang Lian’s guidance. Now, involuntarily pushed away and stumbling, he glimpsed the tongue’s fourth strike approaching in his peripheral vision. His mind went blank with a boom.

This is the end!

Just as he closed his eyes awaiting death, he felt an unusual change in the wind. Opening his eyes, he saw Meng Qianzi rushing to position herself in front of him. The countless bizarre flying insects that had been swooping down suddenly reversed course, instantly flying backward as if they had hit an impenetrable flesh shield or encountered an intense shock wave, immediately repelled.

Meng Qianzi understood.

She turned to look at Shen Gun, both shocked and angry, and asked him: “Why is this tongue only attacking you?”

It made sense now: as the Mountain Ghost throne holder, how could the tongue have charged at her right away? It hadn’t—from beginning to end, the tongue wasn’t targeting her or Jiang Lian.

Its target was Shen Gun!

Shen Gun was dumbfounded, feeling completely wronged: how would he know why? This was the first time in his life he had ever seen this tongue!

Before he could speak, another bizarre scene unfolded.

Those flesh-red flying insects, like a suddenly dropped curtain, fell from above Meng Qianzi’s head, densely swarming and crowding, covering her face in an instant, then cascading down like flowing water. In a moment, she vanished entirely, leaving only an upright, bloated, mummy-like figure wrapped in countless flying insects.

Jiang Lian hadn’t yet risen to his feet when he looked up and witnessed this scene. His mind went blank as he recalled the stone hair crystals that had been ground to powder. Fearing she might have been pulverized, blood rushed to his head as he shouted: “Meng Qianzi!”

Fortunately, a slightly muffled voice soon emerged from the insect-covered figure: “I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

She truly was unharmed. Although the flying insects had enveloped her, they consistently maintained a distance of one or two centimeters, never actually touching her skin. Nevertheless, the sensation was quite awful: like being wrapped in a squirming shell, making it difficult to breathe, feeling stifled and unable to shake them off—when she waved her hand, the insects moved at the same speed as her hand; she wanted to swat them away but feared killing them might harm her hands or introduce unknown pathogens.

Hearing her voice, Jiang Lian felt slightly relieved. Looking up, he saw the tongue had split into two parts: one enveloping Meng Qianzi, the other poised to attack. He knew time was running out and urgent action was needed.

—Although the situation wasn’t clear, this tongue was targeting Shen Gun. It had wrapped around Meng Qianzi to prevent her interference. If Shen Gun didn’t escape within seconds, he would be crushed into a bloody pulp, and Jiang Lian, trying to help, would also become collateral damage.

—Behind a wildly moving tongue, what’s next? The throat. When examining tonsils at a hospital, doctors use a tongue depressor to press down the tongue and examine the throat. That differently colored area at the base of the tongue—could it be the throat?

—This was already the ninth level of the mountain, the deepest Meng Qianzi could descend, yet the mountain gallbladder remained elusive. Could there be a smaller cavity beyond the larger one, with the throat leading to the abdominal cavity below?

—”No liver, no intestines, gallbladder suspended in emptiness”—this abdominal cavity must be empty, with the mountain gallbladder likely suspended at the bottom;

—As for this “tongue,” whoever heard of a tongue being stuffed back into the throat? So this tongue probably couldn’t follow them down…

Jiang Lian couldn’t explain how a person could think through so many things simultaneously in an instant. He rushed forward, kicked Shen Gun with a flying kick, knocking him over, then delivered another powerful kick, shouting: “You’ll have to fend for yourself, hope you don’t die from the fall!”

Before Shen Gun could understand what was happening, he was launched like a cannonball toward the throat opening at the base of the tongue.

Almost simultaneously, Jiang Lian sprinted toward the throat, then at the precise moment, stopped and turned back, shouting at Meng Qianzi: “One big step right, two steps forward, then dive!”

Meng Qianzi was nearly driven crazy by the insect shell she couldn’t shake off, but hearing Jiang Lian’s voice, although she couldn’t understand where this dive would lead her, she followed his instructions, stepping forward and then diving.

Meanwhile, almost as Shen Gun entered the throat opening, the tongue sensed something and rapidly curled back. As Meng Qianzi stepped forward, the flying insects around her quickly rushed back toward the retracting tongue. By the time she was in midair, the insects in front of her had dispersed, and opening her eyes, she saw Jiang Lian just ahead of her, as well as the tongue rapidly descending toward him, unable to stop its momentum.

In that split second, Jiang Lian caught her in his arms.

The rapidly descending insects scattered instantly. Jiang Lian held Meng Qianzi tightly, spinning and falling to the ground, then kicked hard against the floor, sliding with her toward the throat opening, whispering: “Prepare yourself, we’re going to fall from a height.”

Both being trained fighters, they knew how to protect their bodies during a high fall. She responded with a soft sound, gripping Jiang Lian’s shoulders tightly, arching her back slightly, and drawing in her head and neck. As she breathed rapidly, she felt Jiang Lian’s arm tighten around her waist, while his other hand moved up her back, firmly cradling the back of her head.

He probably didn’t know how high they would fall or what shape they would be in upon landing.

Meng Qianzi closed her eyes, suddenly remembering something—

His back, which she had bandaged not long ago, was now scraping against the ground again?

Just as this thought crossed her mind, her body was suspended in the air.

The instantaneous weightlessness was truly uncomfortable. Meng Qianzi buried her head deeper into Jiang Lian’s chest, yet could keenly sense his skeletal frame making subtle adjustments: his back arched, head and neck drawn in, and the arms embracing her slightly spread outward—martial artists often speak of “rolling away,” and the reason for rolling is that when the body is curled into a ball, whether hitting or falling, the impact surface is minimized, best allowing one to borrow momentum to disperse force. By doing this, Jiang Lian was protecting her to the greatest extent, with his skeletal frame shielding her from the outside. Having taken the initial impact, the force she would experience would be much less.

Fortunately, the stone chamber wasn’t deep, and before her racing thoughts could settle, they had already landed: Jiang Lian’s shoulders and back hit the ground first, and after several quick rolls, they came to a stop.

The technique was skillful; he cushioned her from below, exhaled deeply, and asked: “Are you all right?”

Meng Qianzi responded with a soft affirmation: “And you?”

Jiang Lian rubbed his shoulder and back: “It’s fine, the flesh is thick there.”

Meng Qianzi smiled, about to say something when she caught sight of Shen Gun: he had fallen rather badly, half-leaning against the stone wall, his head tilted to one side, glasses hanging from his mouth, mumbling something incomprehensible, seemingly still dazed.

She had intended to tease him, but was suddenly distracted.

This was a stone chamber, slightly smaller than the one above, but she had no time to examine what was inside: hanging from the ceiling was a completely translucent white object, oval-shaped, very much resembling a human gallbladder.

It wasn’t large, perhaps even smaller than a human gallbladder. Looking closely, one would notice that the cord it hung from was of the same material, as if it were a tentacle extended from the object itself.

Meng Qianzi didn’t know if it was her imagination, but she felt it was breathing despite hanging there, quietly inhaling and exhaling, regardless of how the world changed around it or how the stars shifted.

Sometimes, objects, like people, have their temperament, aura, and character. When placed before you, without words, posture, or any embellishment, you simply know whether it is or isn’t.

She murmured: “The mountain gallbladder?”

After being stunned for a couple of seconds, she suddenly became excited, gripping Jiang Lian’s forearm tightly: “Look, look, the mountain gallbladder.”

Jiang Lian nodded, his gaze falling on her hand gripping his arm: “Yes, it’s the mountain gallbladder.”

After a pause, he added: “Congratulations, you’re probably the first person in the Mountain Ghost family in many years to see the real mountain gallbladder.”

Meng Qianzi remained silent, just staring somewhat entranced at the mountain gallbladder.

It seemed she could never look at it enough.

As she gazed, she began to smile.

Being a Mountain Ghost was truly not easy. Auntie often asked her: “Zi-bao, what meaningful things have you done this year? Have you made any contributions?”

How many contributions could she possibly make? The previous generations had already planted all the trees, leaving her with nowhere to dig her shovel. She had to rack her brains to come up with things to do, even repackaging her help with searching Water Ghost family genealogies as “organizing a thorough review of Mountain Ghost historical predecessors.”

She had no choice—without some decent contributions, people would gossip behind her back about her uselessness, never resting even after death—future generations would flip through the “Mountain Ghost Chronicles” and point fingers: “This Meng Qianzi, how did she eat free meals for decades without accomplishing anything noteworthy?”

Now it was different. She had seen the mountain gallbladder, the real mountain gallbladder, which even her legendary great-grandmother had never seen.

Although she hadn’t discovered it by her strength alone, what did that matter? Jiang Lian and Shen Gun were both her three-petaled lotus, her people.

She also had to thank Bai Shuixiao—if that woman hadn’t made so many small moves, Jiang Lian wouldn’t have entered the game, and she couldn’t have brought Shen Gun down the cliff. If she had come alone, she would certainly have done as her great-grandmother did, commenting “just a stupid stone, nothing more,” then dusted herself off and left.

So, the affairs of this world are truly mystical.

…

Jiang Lian smiled as he watched her from the side.

When Meng Qianzi was happy, her eyes and brows became especially animated, her slightly trembling eyelashes, teeth gently biting her lower lip, and occasionally upturned lips all seemed to speak, revealing her many little delights, thoughts, and satisfactions.

Jiang Lian moved his hand slightly and suddenly felt something in his palm.

Looking down, he saw a strand of her hair: his hand rested on his knee, and with her multiple large movements, her hair bun had long since come undone, her long hair falling loose. When she rose, at some point, a strand had slipped into his palm.

Jiang Lian gently pinched it between his fingers.

Her hair was truly beautiful, probably well-cared for, both shiny and smooth, with a certain softness and resilience. Each strand rubbed against his fingertips.

Jiang Lian smoothed out the strand of hair, set it aside, then slowly curled his hand back.