The rain grew heavier as they entered the scenic area.

This was good news. Rain in the Wuling Mountain area never lasted long. If it were pouring now, it would likely ease up by the time they reached their destination—ideally becoming a drizzle, perfect for viewing the Mirage Pearl’s images. Otherwise, under a downpour, even the clearest images would be difficult to see.

Liu Guanguo had contacted his drinking buddy Wang Qingliang in advance. As a security guard for the scenic area, Wang Qingliang didn’t waste his position—he arranged a sightseeing vehicle for them. More than a dozen people boarded the three-sided open vehicle, braving wind and rain as they traveled deeper into the scenic area. With no scenery to see at night, mountains and trees were just varying shades of black, either standing still or swaying amidst the wind and rain.

Jiang Lian and Meng Qianzi sat in the first row of passenger seats. With so many people around, including Meng Jinsong in the front passenger seat, they couldn’t discuss anything too confidential. Jiang Lian asked her: “That… thing, what do you plan to do with it?”

The “thing,” naturally, referred to the mountain’s gallbladder.

Meng Qianzi said, “After we finish here, Fifth Mother will accompany me back to Shanguizhai. We’ll take it back together.”

For such an important item, Qiu Biying probably wanted to personally escort it.

“Approximately… when will you return?”

Meng Qianzi couldn’t say for certain: “In a few days, perhaps.”

She had already hosted her guests, but with Qiu Biying’s arrival, things became different. Qiu Biying held a high position, and with Hunan and Hubei being close, she had many old connections in the area. Those people entertained Meng Qianzi out of courtesy, going through the motions, but receiving Qiu Biying was a solemn matter. One family invited them to dinner, another for tea—three meals a day weren’t enough, they wanted to add late-night snacks too.

And Qiu Biying wanted to bring Meng Qianzi along to strengthen her future connections in the area.

Meng Qianzi quietly complained to him: “I don’t even know those people. They’re all older and keep reminiscing with Fifth Mother. You know how older people are—they feel their meetings are numbered, so once they start talking, there’s no stopping them. Fifth Mother only returned at dawn this morning after chatting nearly all night. They spoke with enthusiasm while I just sat there listening. How boring!”

Yesterday, I made excuses about just returning and being too tired. Today, I used helping you with the Mirage Pearl as an excuse. I declined both invitations. But tomorrow… I probably can’t avoid it.”

She seemed genuinely uninterested in social engagements.

Jiang Lian smiled: “With your status, various social obligations are unavoidable. Accompanying them isn’t so boring. Rather than sitting on the sidelines, listless and restless, why not turn the tables and actively participate?”

Meng Qianzi glanced at him: “How do I turn the tables?”

Jiang Lian advised her: “Look, your Fifth Mother is a formidable person. Anyone who can talk with her about the past all night must be extraordinary. They’re probably discussing remarkable experiences they shared. When you hear something interesting, follow up with questions and ask them to elaborate. Older people love telling stories to younger generations. Then, they’ll be telling stories for your benefit. Since you enjoy listening to stories anyway, isn’t that a win-win?”

It sounded reasonable. Meng Qianzi’s eyes brightened: “Then I’ll try that approach tomorrow, take control of the situation… What will you be doing tomorrow?”

Jiang Lian considered: “Barring any unexpected developments, I should continue applying the divine eye to quickly draw what we see tonight. With such drawings, the sooner I start, the better. After too much time passes, some details might be forgotten.”

Having just used the divine eye today, he had depleted considerable energy. If he didn’t record promptly, he might forget more due to mental fatigue. Additionally, it was a precaution: if Kuang Tongsheng’s condition suddenly deteriorated and the three of them couldn’t make it in time, having the drawing to photograph and instantly send would allow Kuang Tongsheng to see it before death, leaving no regrets.

Meng Qianzi pointed to her backpack: “I even brought a video camera. Can’t we just record it?”

Jiang Lian didn’t want to discourage her: “You can try. You’ll see.”

It seemed it likely wouldn’t work. Meng Qianzi didn’t pursue the matter, thinking to herself: since Jiang Lian would be drawing from morning until night tomorrow, and she’d be bored staying at Yunmeng Peak anyway, she might as well accompany Fifth Mother to those social engagements. She could bombard those elders with questions, both enjoying stories and showing genuine interest rather than mere courtesy. Why not?

With this perspective, she felt less resistant to social obligations. Thinking deeper, she found it quite understandable: “Actually, my Fifth Mother… It’s just human nature, isn’t it? When we reach their age and talk about our cliff-descending adventures, we’ll probably also chat through the night. Hey, what will we talk about?”

Jiang Lian pondered: “Shen Gun falling off the cliff, I suppose. It was so bizarre—you were clearing the path, yet he somehow took the lead.”

Meng Qianzi said, “And the fire bats, too. Actually… it was quite spectacular, a sudden whoosh, and fire streaks darting everywhere, even obscuring the sky.”

Now that the danger had passed, she found it magnificent.

Jiang Lian added: “And that giant snake. Shen Gun was so scared that he froze. No exaggeration—even my hair roots stood on end.”

He recalled how she had subdued the giant snake with a single “Go!” and the flick of her wrist—truly agile and spirited.

Meng Qianzi said, “And the wine gourd. When my great-grandmother said, ‘No fate to meet, but fate to share wine,’ the one sharing wine wasn’t me…”

There was too much to recount. There was also the blood-soaked stone after Jiang Lian moved his back; the quiet moments telling stories while lying in rope beds; the murmured “mother” when Jiang Lian was trapped in a nightmare; when they reached Nine-Layer Mountain and she was encased like a mummy by flesh-colored flying insects, with Jiang Lian shouting at her: “Step right, then two steps forward, fall!”…

Why wait until fifty? Even now, recalling these events brought initial animation, then contemplative silence. In a few more years, it might even moisten the corners of their eyes and choke their voices. Time is a constantly spinning blade. Those dangerous moments and tender instants both happen and shatter, floating and swaying, scattered like fragments in the fleeting past, unreachable to both sight and step. Only in quiet nights long afterward can they speak and laugh, sigh and lament, with eyes no longer clear and lips no longer full, now etched with wrinkles.

Jiang Lian also fell silent, his thoughts flying to unknown places. Finally, he chuckled: “And that little white monkey.”

Yes, the little white monkey! Meng Qianzi burst into laughter.

Jiang Lian asked: “Will you visit it again?”

Meng Qianzi said, “Yes, I feel like we’ll meet it again.”

She turned to look at Jiang Lian: “When that time comes, shall I invite you along?”

Jiang Lian nodded: “I wonder if it will still recognize us by then.”

In the front row, Meng Jinsong’s gaze briefly shifted backward before quickly returning. His stern face reflected in the windshield, covered with water droplets continuously wiped away by wipers.

For the latter part of the journey, the sightseeing vehicle couldn’t proceed, so they had to walk.

Fortunately, the rain had lessened, and they knew the way well, making for a smooth journey. Jiang Lian noticed that two or three people didn’t follow all the way but stopped midway. After reaching their destination, seven or eight more people dispersed in different directions.

Only Meng Jinsong remained by their side, holding a black umbrella to shield Meng Qianzi from the rain as she crouched to open her backpack.

Meng Qianzi explained to Jiang Lian: “Although it’s late and probably no one will come, having people stationed around makes me feel more secure.”

Jiang Lian nodded. It seemed that Bai Shuixiao’s tracking, which triggered a series of events, had made Meng Qianzi more cautious than before.

Meng Qianzi slung the video camera strap over her shoulder and took out a large glass jar: “I’ve asked everyone to stand far away. After all, this is the Kuang family’s secret, a total massacre. Such a tragic event shouldn’t be viewed like a spectacle by those people.”

She glanced at Meng Jinsong.

Understanding her meaning, Meng Jinsong hesitated for a few seconds, then handed the umbrella to Jiang Lian: “I’ll stand farther away too.”

He strode more than ten meters away and stood there like an immovable old pine. Jiang Lian thought for the first time that Meng Jinsong’s name, which contained the character for “pine,” was quite fitting.

Jiang Lian looked back to see that Meng Qianzi had already unscrewed the jar lid. A thin iron chain extended from the center of the lid. She raised her arm as she stood up.

The thin chain was about half a meter long, with an unusually large spider hanging at the end. Jiang Lian instinctively felt that if its legs were extended, an ordinary dinner plate probably couldn’t contain it.

However, this spider’s legs weren’t extended but curled inward, seemingly clutching something tightly. Jiang Lian looked carefully but couldn’t discern what it was, only vaguely sensing it was spherical, perhaps the size of a ping-pong ball—either transparent or invisible.

Meng Qianzi climbed the tree where the fake corpse had been suspended, wrapped the chain around it, and quickly climbed down.

The spider dangled in midair, swaying gently.

Jiang Lian couldn’t believe it was this simple: “That’s it?”

Meng Qianzi replied: “This one is different. It absorbed the original one I used here. The images will appear quickly, and the most dangerous, complex scenes will show first. Just wait.”

With that, she whistled sharply.

The people scattered around had been using flashlights, beams of light shining in various directions—clear or hazy. When the whistle sounded, they immediately extinguished their lights.

Only then did the surroundings truly darken.

Jiang Lian swallowed nervously, his palms sweating with anticipation. He saw that Meng Qianzi had already turned on her video camera and didn’t want her effort to be wasted: “It’s useless. I’ve tried. Your eyes can see it, but the lens captures nothing, which proves that human eyes are superior to machine-made lenses.”

Meng Qianzi made a sound of acknowledgment. Strangely, she naturally felt that since Jiang Lian had said so, there was no need to verify it herself.

She put the camera away: “Perhaps the scenes created by the Mirage Pearl only affect human eyes, or rather, only human sensory organs. According to the Mountain Ghosts, the Mirage Pearl is dragon saliva.”

Dragons again. Jiang Lian recalled what Shen Gun had mentioned about seeing a winding dragon shadow when lifting the mountain’s gallbladder: “Dragons are quite magical. Dragon scales, dragon tendons, dragon saliva—every part is a treasure.”

Meng Qianzi added: “And dragon bones too. My great-grandmother disappeared in her later years while searching for dragon bones. It’s said that when dragon bones are ignited, their light can illuminate the afterlife.”

Jiang Lian was surprised: “The afterlife?”

Meng Qianzi also found this claim somewhat absurd: “I’m not sure either. Anyway, it’s a kind of… very ethereal place where people go after death. In any case…”

At this point, she seemed to notice something and abruptly stopped, then softly hissed “Shh.”

Jiang Lian’s heart pounded.

He felt it too: a faint vibration in the ground, the sound made only when many horses gallop together at full speed.

Jiang Lian looked at Meng Qianzi, wanting to ask: Is there even sound?

But Meng Qianzi wasn’t looking at him. She stared intently into the distance, orange-red light gradually reflecting in her black pupils.

It was approaching… firelight.

She said: “I don’t want to discourage you, but…”

Jiang Lian interrupted her: “I understand.”

Just as Shen Gun might return empty-handed from the Yao village, he too might not see anything of value here. What bandit would open a box, take out a prescription, unfold it, and let him glimpse the medicinal proportions?

However, using Shen Gun’s words, they should try. Without trying, how would they know it wouldn’t work?

He had done his part; he hoped fate would show some mercy.

Everything matched Kuang Tongsheng’s original description perfectly.

Events unfolded rapidly. The panicked Kuang family members and their twenty-plus pack horses carrying women and luggage had barely arrived when bandits overtook them with strange yells. Without demands or proudly announcing their names, the slaughter began instantly.

Blood spraying into the air indicated one thing: keep the goods, kill the people—eliminate all witnesses.

Even after watching countless killings in movies and TV shows, facing something nearly real was different. Moreover, this Mirage Pearl affected most human senses—except touch, seeing, hearing, and even smelling were virtually identical to being at the scene.

Jiang Lian could barely distinguish reality from illusion. Piercing screams repeatedly penetrated his ears. The smell of blood mixed with burning oil and wood was inescapable. People’s bodies twisted as they fell, then fell again. Twice, Jiang Lian instinctively raised his foot, wanting to stop a chopping blade that whistled through the air. He had already taken steps before suddenly realizing these were just illusions, and he retreated in confusion.

Meng Qianzi suddenly called to him: “Jiang Lian, you’re stepping on…”

Stepping on what?

Jiang Lian looked down to see one of his feet sunk into half a person’s head.

Was that… a young Master Gan, Kuang Tongsheng?

Jiang Lian’s whole body shuddered. He backed away two steps but couldn’t resist approaching again, kneeling on one knee.

It was Kuang Tongsheng, unmistakably. His features still vaguely resembled the present day. He lay hidden in the grass, unable to control his trembling body despite holding his breath.

Not far away, a woman in a white gown, carrying an infant, desperately rushed toward him.

After the slaughter, the scene was a mess.

Kuang Tongsheng had escaped with the infant. The woman lay prone on the ground, her head and neck only half-connected.

The bandits tied the pack horses together. The luggage piled in one place was as high as a small hill. Jiang Lian stepped forward to look, instinctively avoiding the constantly moving people.

A dark-skinned giant with one eye and a hatchet tucked at his waist rolled up his sleeves, revealing arms covered in dense black hair: “Brothers, let’s open the boxes and check the goods! With money, we’ll head to the waterway docks to find white-faced women who serve all comers!”

In those days, women in the flesh trade were concentrated at various docks along the waterways—places with merchants and travelers, many men with such needs and full purses.

The crowd roared with laughter and began opening boxes.

They violently broke locks or pried boxes open. Each lid lifted was accompanied by gasps followed by wild, excited shouts. The Kuang family had brought only valuables on this escape—besides essential clothing, there were rolls of foreign currency, gold and silver jewelry, and various gems and jade. The bandits’ eyes reddened with greed; they nearly dripped saliva. In their excitement, one felt something soft underfoot, looked down to see an unmoved corpse, and impatiently kicked it away.

Another box was brought over. This time was different. The pockmarked man carrying it had barely lifted it when his expression changed. He cursed: “Damn it! It’s empty!”

Empty?

Everyone present, including Jiang Lian and Meng Qianzi, who had come closer to look, focused on that box at almost the same time.

Looking closely, one would notice that while all the boxes followed standard dimensions and designs, this box was special.

Generally, boxes are just for storage, without much decoration—the other boxes had plain wooden surfaces, but this one was covered entirely with intricate patterns.

Jiang Lian’s breathing quickened. An inner voice told him: This is it. This must be it.

The dark-skinned giant didn’t believe it: “Empty? Who would go through the trouble of fleeing with an empty box?”

The pockmarked man became anxious: “Third Master, would I lie to you? Feel it yourself…”

As he spoke, he tossed the box in his hands a couple of times. Anyone could see it truly had no weight: “Can’t you tell how light it is?”

Third Master spat on the ground: “Damn it! Throw it away! Open the others. Don’t let an empty box ruin our mood.”

The pockmarked man acknowledged and casually tossed the box aside, then brought out another. This one contained several scrolls. Third Master unwrapped one—an ink wash painting of shrimp playing, with a red seal at the bottom. Jiang Lian had intended to examine the so-called empty box that had been thrown aside, but suddenly noticed the characters “Bai Shi” on the seal. His heart began to race, and he whispered to Meng Qianzi: “That’s valuable.”

The Third Master looked disgusted and shouted, “Where’s Yanluo? He’s educated. Call the advisor to see what this is.”

A thin man hurriedly made his way through the crowd, responding: “Here!”

This man’s appearance was truly unfortunate. Triangle eyes weren’t bad enough—he had excessive whites showing, a short neck, but a high protrusion at the back of his head. With such features, he seemed even more suited for corpse transportation than Kuang Tongsheng.

The Third Master handed the painting to Yanluo: “Is this worth money?”

Yanluo examined it, his eyes flickering, his face full of smiles: “This was painted by their ancestor. It’s worthless.”

Third Master’s eyes widened: “Worthless? Then why bring it while fleeing?”

Yanluo smiled even more fawningly: “These scholarly families have strict rules. They bring books, paintings, and calligraphy, even though these can’t be eaten… Third Master, we should focus on finding silver and money.”

That made sense. Third Master cursed angrily, threw the scroll back into the box, and kicked it away: “Open another!”

Yanluo’s greedy gaze lingered on that box for a brief moment before inconspicuously withdrawing.

Meng Qianzi muttered softly: “Ignorance is truly frightening.”

Jiang Lian smiled, about to say something, when suddenly someone called out: “Third Master!”

Third Master felt irritated and glared: “What now?”

Looking over, they saw a small thug with a shaved head except for a pigtail at the back, bending down with his rear up, examining the first box that had been thrown aside.

The pockmarked man said to him, “It’s an empty box. What’s there to look at?”

“But that’s not it,” the small thug scratched his head. “Third Master, this box… has no lock or seams. How do you open it?”