The night breeze blew gently. All was quiet, yet neither of them felt sleepy. Jiang Lian leaned against the wall, looking at Shen Gun sitting on the bed with paper balls scattered around his feet, trying to extract the most critical threads from his recent incoherent words.

“So you think that all those mysterious things passed down in Western Hunan, and even Yunnan, Guizhou, and Guangxi, are all related to Chi You?”

Shen Gun nodded: “Chi You’s tribe’s unique culture and heritage spread and dispersed over thousands of years as the people retreated and migrated. Of course, now we’re all one family, unified for a long time, but looking back, don’t you think the cultural systems of Yan-Huang and Chi You were very different?”

“The most typical difference is that we follow ‘a gentleman does not speak of strange powers and chaotic spirits,’ but they embrace shamanism, believing everything has a spirit—caves have cave spirits, mountains have mountain spirits, even trees have tree spirits. For a long time, Central Plains civilization viewed barbarian civilization with prejudice, even demonizing it. Whether it’s corpse transportation, Gu poison, or talismans, people speak of them with horror—but what if these are just their unique cultural inheritances?”

He began listing examples: “For instance, corpse transportation and Gu poison were originally classified under ‘Zhu You Science,’ also called Heavenly Medicine, an ancient healing practice. Corpse transportation might be their research on human bodies, studying preservation and movement of corpses shortly after death; while Gu poison is medicine…”

Shen Gun became excited, turning his gaze toward the window, where uneven mountain silhouettes loomed in the distance.

“Look at those mountains. Besides various plants and herbs, aren’t there all kinds of reptiles and insects? We follow Shennong’s approach of tasting hundreds of herbs, following an herbal system. Perhaps they followed an insect-based medicinal system?”

“A traditional Chinese medicine prescription, like two qian of Fuling, two qian of Baizhu, one qian of processed Fuzi, ground into powder and boiled in a pot—how is that essentially different from placing one centipede, one scorpion, one poisonous bee in a jar, burying it underground, letting them devour each other, using earth energy and time to ‘brew,’ and finally obtaining a finished product?”

“The only difference is that our medicine is dead, while theirs is a living Gu worm; our medicine is single-use, while theirs can be used repeatedly. You may find those insects disgusting and poisonous, but that’s just due to established aesthetic influences. Besides, many herbs are also poisonous—the old saying goes ‘medicine is three parts poison.'”

Jiang Lian was almost convinced. As he listened, he too began to feel that those so-called barbarian magical arts might truly just stem from cultural differences between Yan-Huang and Chi You.

Ultimately, Gu poison, like ancestor tablets, was just a tool. Unfortunately, too many people used it for improper purposes, and over time, it developed a creepy, horrifying impression, though many modern drugs in the hands of criminals are also murder weapons.

It seemed Chi You was an unavoidable figure in this whole matter.

However, China’s dynastic song begins with “Xia, Shang, and Western Zhou.” Even the Xia Dynasty is considered by some historians to be imaginary, a mythical dynasty that never existed. The conflict between the Yellow Emperor and Chi You occurred long before the Xia Dynasty, with no historical materials to reference. One could only glimpse fragments from scattered ancient myths—but myths, modified and edited by later generations over thousands of years, had become completely distorted.

Shen Gun had really… dived headfirst into one of history’s most thorny mysteries.

Jiang Lian smiled: “Chi You… I’ve been to Loudi, which legend says was Chi You’s hometown. Many places there have statues of Chi You, with two ox horns on his head, looking fierce and majestic.”

After a long silence, he returned to the main topic: “So for the knotted rope records, you plan to… start with ethnic minority embroidery?”

Shen Gun corrected him: “Not ethnic minorities, just that village, the Flower Yao. Shen Wangu’s wife is Yao, and because Flower Yao differs from other Yao branches, his wife often mentions it. He’s heard a lot and is something of an expert. I pulled him aside earlier and asked many questions.”

“I believe it’s that village. It’s not just intuition; I have reasons—three reasons.”

“First, Flower Yao are rare in Western Hunan, mainly distributed around Xuefeng Mountain. Only that village is in the Great Wuling area and closest to Xuandan Feng Lin. Didn’t we discuss earlier that the geographical environment there isn’t ideal? It’s inconvenient to enter and exit, and the deep mountains have many wild animals. Why settle there?”

“Could it be that the Flower Yao were responsible for record-keeping on Chi You’s side? They were the cultured ones. You should know there weren’t many cultured people in ancient times, even fewer in prehistoric times. Knotted rope record-keeping was a highly technical skill. When the mountain’s gallbladder was suspended, might that branch of Flower Yao have been brought in to record the entire process, then settled nearby?”

“Second, Flower Yao worships ancient trees and mountain stones. The knotted rope records at the base of Nine-Layer Mountain were made of woven vines. Vines are a type of ancient tree, right? And the green cover at the cliff top was created by countless vines and branches. I think the ancestors of that Flower Yao branch were somewhat involved in this matter.”

Indeed, around that cliff wall were many bronze brackets, a large project that required manpower.

“And third,” Shen Gun spoke until his mouth was dry, but he didn’t pause to drink water, “Shen Wangu said Flower Yao embroidery is indeed very mysterious, even called ‘immortal embroidery.’ Many ethnic minorities have unique divination methods to predict harvests and fortune, which have now become part of their cultural heritage.”

“For example, Wa shamans are skilled in chicken bone divination; Guangxi Miao shamans throw rice into water bowls and observe where the grains fall, called ‘water bowl reflection’; Hani people use pig liver divination, slaughtering pigs and examining liver color. Flower Yao uses embroidery for divination. It’s said their tribal shamans wear ritual masks to communicate with imagined spirits and ghosts. Next to them sits the village’s most skilled embroidery woman who, once the ritual begins, loses consciousness, becoming dazed, but her hands keep moving, creating strange patterns. The shaman can then predict next year’s harvest, rainfall, and potential disasters based on these patterns.”

“Little Lian Lian, I’m at least eighty percent certain that the key to deciphering that knotted rope record is in that Flower Yao village. This not only relates to my search for the box but also to the Mountain Ghosts’ origins. Miss Meng and her group must be concerned too—so, could you apply the divine eye as soon as possible and draw the pattern for me?”

He emphasized: “Detailed—it must be very detailed, because I want to find a skilled person from that village to recreate the pattern with needle and thread based on your drawing.”

Jiang Lian looked outside. Stars filled the sky; night was deep.

He stood up: “This will take a long time to draw. I’ll go get some sleep, regain my energy, and start working at dawn tomorrow.”

Shen Gun gratefully nodded, watching him walk toward the door.

Unexpectedly, Jiang Lian stopped after a few steps, hesitated, then said: “Don’t blame me for throwing cold water on this.”

What was happening? Shen Gun became tense immediately.

“In ancient times, craftsmen who built tombs for emperors were often buried alive inside; those who knew secrets were likely silenced.”

Shen Gun understood his implication.

If this truly was a great secret, and the Flower Yao were merely record-keepers, then soon after completing the rope diagram, key participants were probably eliminated. This meant that even if their descendants remained and the village still existed, trying to decode that knotted rope record would be futile.

This was indeed cold water, poured directly over his head.

Shen Gun was stunned for a while before saying, “We still have to… try. How will we know it won’t work if we don’t try? We do our best and leave the rest to fate.”

Meng Qianzi learned about the whole matter the next morning. Reportedly, Jiang Lian had been drawing with the divine eye since around six in the morning, accompanied by Kuang Meiying.

So after sighing in amazement, all she could do was request that everyone, upstairs and downstairs, maintain silence.

The entire Yunmeng Peak had an unusually quiet morning.

At noon, Kuang Meiying left the room and went downstairs for lunch.

When Meng Qianzi heard this, she had someone call Kuang Meiying over and asked: “Is Jiang Lian alright without your company?”

Wasn’t someone with the divine eye physically vulnerable and in need of supervision?

Kuang Meiying was experienced in accompanying Jiang Lian with the divine eye, so she wasn’t overly anxious: “He’s mostly drawing in black and white this time, not needing to change colors frequently. Plus, it’s quiet around, so my leaving for a short while shouldn’t be a problem.”

Meng Qianzi made a sound of acknowledgment, but still felt Kuang Meiying was being careless.

“Shouldn’t be a problem”—if the world ran on “shouldn’ts,” there wouldn’t be so many accidents.

But since she was his family, and his family wasn’t worried, Meng Qianzi couldn’t intervene.

After thinking for a moment, she asked: “May I go see? I’ve never witnessed the divine eye in my life; it would be educational.”

Kuang Meiying, indebted to her, couldn’t refuse: “I… suppose so, but Miss Meng, you must remain quiet.”

Xin Ci, listening nearby, became curious and couldn’t help asking: “May I go look too? I promise not to make a sound.”

Before Kuang Meiying could respond, Meng Qianzi had already given him a cold stare: “You want to look, I want to look—are we visiting pandas at a zoo? What’s there to see?”

Xin Ci felt embarrassed and said nothing more, though thinking to himself: What’s there to see? Yet you’re going to look too.

Because the drawing was too large to fit on a table, the furniture in the guest room had been rearranged to clear a large space.

Enormous sheets of paper were spread out, with Jiang Lian kneeling on the ground to draw.

When Meng Qianzi entered with Kuang Meiying, she saw Jiang Lian kneeling and drawing. His eyes were open but resembled a blind person’s, without any light. This didn’t affect his drawing, as if he had opened his “mind’s eye.” With mental images guiding him, his hand moved ceaselessly, creating continuous, flowing lines.

He had already recreated nearly half of the knotted rope record—vines stretching, coiling, and knotting. The drawing was extremely detailed yet contained a sense of dynamic energy, as if it might extend from the paper at any moment.

Kuang Meiying quietly went over and sat cross-legged at the side. Only then did Meng Qianzi notice numerous sharpened pencils with long, thin tips spread around her.

Drawing solely with pencils, especially for such a large image, quickly wore down the tips. A pencil would become blunt after drawing for a while. Whenever the pencil tip became too rounded to continue drawing effectively, Jiang Lian seemed to know instinctively and would pause until Kuang Meiying carefully replaced it with a new one.

The room was very quiet, with the scratching sound of pencil on paper like gentle rain, soft yet comforting.

Meng Qianzi was mesmerized and stood watching for quite some time.

Kuang Meiying found this strange and glanced at her several times. In her opinion, Miss Meng was very impatient. Last time when she was drawing the simulated human portrait, Meng Qianzi had seemed like she was sitting on pins, sighing and rubbing her forehead before finally leaving. Today she was unusually patient, and Kuang Meiying wondered why she could remain so still.

Meng Qianzi noticed Kuang Meiying’s gaze and felt it was time to leave.

She beckoned to Kuang Meiying, indicating she should come outside.

Kuang Meiying, not understanding, quietly followed her out. As she gently closed the door, Meng Qianzi said softly: “Wait here a moment. I’ll have someone bring you a pair of tiger pads. When convenient, please help Jiang Lian tie them on his knees. After kneeling all day like this, how will he be able to walk?”

Jiang Lian didn’t regain consciousness until dusk.

Drawing such detail had severely depleted his energy, leaving him extremely exhausted, with stiff muscles, a trembling hand that had held the pencil, and locked joints that wouldn’t move smoothly. Even lifting his head caused his neck to ache.

He collapsed sitting on the ground, hands on his knees. His only achievement was this drawing, truly exquisite, with every detail accurately reproduced. Not to boast, but with such a clear pattern, recreating the knotted rope record with needle and thread wouldn’t be difficult.

Something felt different. He looked down.

Both his knees had soft pads tied to them. Jiang Lian untied one to examine it closely. Honestly, it resembled an insole but was much thicker and softer. Tied to the knees…

The function was obvious. Jiang Lian looked at Kuang Meiying in surprise. People say girls are detail-oriented, but he had always felt Kuang Meiying’s attention was like a net with holes—things slipped through, and she never noticed such small details.

Today, she seemed transformed, capable of such thoughtfulness. Just as he was about to compliment her, Kuang Meiying noticed him holding the knee pad: “Miss Meng came to see you using the divine eye. She had these pads sent over, saying that kneeling like that all day would make it impossible for you to walk.”

Jiang Lian made a sound of acknowledgment: “Miss Meng sent them?”

“Yes.”

Jiang Lian said nothing more, just watching Kuang Meiying gather the blunted pencils scattered across the floor. After a moment, he asked again: “You’re saying Miss Meng had someone bring the pads?”

Kuang Meiying found this odd: “Haven’t I said it several times? Did using the divine eye make you forgetful? Hearing from one ear and forgetting with the other?”

Jiang Lian pointed to his head: “You need to understand, this drains the spirit. I’m a bit… slow to react.”

Kuang Meiying didn’t suspect anything and pursed her lips, continuing with her tasks. Jiang Lian closed his eyes, rubbing his temples, but the corners of his mouth turned upward involuntarily.

Who was forgetful?

He just wanted to hear her confirm it a couple more times.

Before this smile could fade, Shen Gun’s voice came from outside: “Little Lian Lian… I heard Little Lian Lian talking. Is it… finished?”

Jiang Lian hadn’t expected Shen Gun to be so eager. The drawing had barely been rolled up when cars were already waiting downstairs. Shen Wangu’s wife had been brought in to help communicate with the Flower Yao.

As he saw Shen Gun off, Jiang Lian deliberately said in a low voice: “Tonight I’m going with Miss Meng to see the mirage. Want to come along and check it out?”

Shen Gun was stunned momentarily, instantly torn between options, but quickly established priorities and retorted: “The Mirage Pearl? I’m a Lotus Petal—I can see it anytime. Little Lian Lian, let’s just go our separate ways and look for our boxes.”

With that, he ran off.

“Going our separate ways, looking for our boxes”—as if they were parting forever. Jiang Lian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Kuang Meiying tugged at his clothes from behind and handed him her phone.

She had opened a video of Kuang Tongsheng lying in a hospital bed.

Just seeing his complexion, Jiang Lian’s heart sank. He instinctively felt the caregiver was right—this time, Kuang Tongsheng wasn’t crying wolf; his time had truly come.

But in the video, Kuang Tongsheng was smiling. He must have heard about the “major developments” from Kuang Meiying. His aged, sagging face formed a smile, his voice trembling with excitement.

He mumbled: “Good, good.”

Then emphasized, “Meiying’s matter is more important than mine. Go about your business first.”

Finally, Kuang Tongsheng looked directly at the camera, the scattered light in his cloudy eyes strangely focusing in that moment: “Lian, if you can see this… paint a picture of her for me. I can’t remember… what she looks like anymore.”

Though knowing this was a recorded video, not a live call, Jiang Lian still responded with a soft affirmation.

To save time for the next journey, Jiang Lian only washed his face to refresh himself before going to the dining hall. As the food was served, it began to rain outside.

The patter of rain brought relief. Rain was good—with rain, the Mirage Pearl could work its magic.

He had barely taken a few bites when voices came from outside. Meng Jinsong was talking to someone: “Still eating? Miss Meng is already waiting.”

This must be referring to him. Jiang Lian quickly grabbed a steamed bun, took a large bite, swallowed it hurriedly, and stood up, saying as he turned: “I’m done eating…”

He stopped mid-sentence: Meng Jinsong stood at the dining hall entrance, but Meng Qianzi also appeared, stepping inside.

She heard his response: “You’re done? If you’re done, then…”

As she spoke, her gaze swept across the table.

The meal was simple: a bowl of porridge, a plate of stir-fried meat, a plate of preserved vegetables, plus two steamed buns.

However, the porridge was barely touched, the two dishes showed little sign of being eaten, and one steamed bun had just a single bite taken from it—a hurried bite that was still slowly rebounding.

She withdrew her gaze: “You’re done?”

Jiang Lian had noticed her scanning glance and remembered her personality. If he answered “I’m done,” she wouldn’t compassionately suggest he eat a few more bites but would raise her eyebrows and hurry him with “Then let’s go.” After all, whoever is hungry knows it and bears it themselves.

Jiang Lian said softly: “If you’re not in a hurry, I could eat a bit more.”

At least he knew better. Meng Qianzi raised her chin, her fingertips tapping on the table: “Ten minutes.”

Jiang Lian quickly sat back down.