“So what if it doesn’t match? It’s not a big deal,” Meng Qianzi thought Jing Rusi was being too impatient. “It just means it’s not here. We’ve got mountains and lakes, which narrows down the search area quite a bit. Let’s keep looking.”

As she spoke, she took the drawing paper from Jing Rusi’s hand.

Shen Gun also offered his opinion: “Sometimes reading a map isn’t so straightforward. Perhaps there’s a hidden map within the map, or maybe we need to heat it over fire or apply some chemical solution to see it properly…”

Meng Qianzi’s mind stirred, thinking of the Mountain Ghost’s fire-vision ability to read music scores.

“Perhaps we need to look at it upside down? Or maybe at a specific angle, under particular lighting conditions?”

Jing Rusi was getting a headache from this string of “perhaps,” but Meng Qianzi remained patient, actually turning the drawing paper upside down to examine it.

Reversed, it still didn’t seem to match, but for some inexplicable reason, certain areas did appear… quite similar.

While Meng Qianzi was still pondering this, Xian Qionghua returned: “If we really can’t figure it out, let’s set aside this Kunlun Ladder thing for now. We should send people to investigate where Shi Xiaohai’s incident occurred.”

Shi Xiaohai stood at the edge of the valley, closing one eye as if taking aim, his arm raised at a forty-five-degree angle, pointing toward one peak among the many snow-capped mountains encircling the valley: “There.”

After a pause, he added his inevitable phrase: “Boom! It fell!”

The saying goes, “mountains look close but take forever to reach,” and anyone experienced in mountain travel knows that a casually indicated peak that appears just within reach would take at least several hours of hiking to reach.

The dispatched team, making a round trip, would take at least a full day.

The camp had about forty people. Jing Rusi carefully reviewed everyone’s profiles and selected the twenty most capable to form the team. Besides the essential Mountain Ghost baskets, they also brought guns, flamethrowers, and wrist-mounted crossbows.

The walkie-talkies were already functioning poorly, and the satellite phones were showing signs of failure, too. This was the trouble with mountainous areas—you never knew when some mineral-rich rock formation might interfere with magnetic fields. Still, they brought the devices along, better than nothing.

As for who would lead the team, there was some debate. Meng Qianzi was immediately ruled out—the expedition required mountain climbing, and her leg condition made that too difficult. Traveling by yak was possible, but it would take too much time. Xian Qionghua volunteered: “I’ll go, I’m young.”

Jing Rusi was displeased hearing this: “Seventh Sister, is being young so impressive? You’ve spent years in Yunnan, but how could Yunnan’s mountains compare to those in the Northwest? Shouldn’t someone native to the Northwest lead?”

It made sense—each mountain has its character, and familiarity should determine who leads. In the end, they decided Jing Rusi would lead the team. Still concerned, Meng Qianzi arranged for Meng Jinsong to accompany them.

After breakfast, the large team set out. Shi Xiaohai was the most excited, walking at the front of the group, shouting, “Forward, forward!” Meng Qianzi, seated in her wheelchair, watched them depart. After they disappeared from view, she tracked them with high-powered binoculars: the figures grew smaller and smaller, sometimes suddenly vanishing, then reappearing in a line in her field of vision moments later.

Beyond this, there was nothing unusual. The mountain winds remained cold and crisp. If mountain mirages were common in this area, the likelihood of animals residing here would be low: mountain mirages, also called “yin dwellings,” were greatly disliked by animals. What creature would tolerate having to flee in the night every other day if they made their home here?

After watching for a while, Meng Qianzi grew bored and looked around.

The camp was peaceful.

Xian Qionghua wasn’t at the camp; after escorting Jing Rusi’s team into the mountains, she had gone to scout the surrounding area. Around the camp perimeter, several people patrolled back and forth. The rest were busy organizing equipment, cleaning dishes, or preparing lunch and dinner…

Meng Qianzi waved to Shen Gun.

Shen Gun thought she had discovered something important and jogged over. When someone runs, their arms normally swing to maintain balance, but since his hands were tied behind his back, he looked like a wobbling wooden stick as he ran.

When he arrived, Meng Qianzi asked: “Is Jiang Lian still sleeping?”

“Yes,” Shen Gun was puzzled. “You’re asking again? Do you need him for something?”

Meng Qianzi found it strange: “Why isn’t he awake yet? It’s not like him.”

Thinking back on her interactions with Jiang Lian throughout their journey, he either slept very little or not at all. He had never slept until mid-morning before.

Shen Gun didn’t think it was a big deal: “Miss Meng, you said you needed to restore your vital energy these past few days, and you’ve been sleeping until afternoon, haven’t you? Little Lian Lian was dragged out in the middle of the night to apply spirit eyes, he’s exhausted too! You get to sleep, but he doesn’t? Isn’t that a double standard?”

Meng Qianzi was worried: “Push me over to check on him.”

Shen Gun twisted his body to show his tied hands: “Do I look like I have hands? You want me to push?”

Meng Qianzi was irritated and opted to propel her wheelchair herself by pushing the hand rims, heading toward Jiang Lian. Shen Gun stood in place for a moment before suddenly realizing something and jogging after her: “What’s wrong? Is Little Lian Lian not normal?”

Meng Qianzi had only been suspicious before, but Shen Gun’s question suddenly confirmed her fears: “Not normal, definitely not normal.”

Speaking of exhaustion, she was the most tired of all. For the past two days in the mountains, she had continuously used the “Mountain Wind Attraction” technique, and last night she had even observed the mountain mirage. She genuinely could sleep until afternoon, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t wake up with noise: since morning, Fourth Mother and the others had been comparing mountain shapes, then the camp had breakfast, and the whole team departed—with all this commotion, Jiang Lian still hadn’t awakened.

This wasn’t sleeping; it was more like a coma.

She grew increasingly nervous: Jiang Lian needed to be awakened, even if he was put back to sleep afterward…

The concerning situation had manifested.

Indeed, Jiang Lian couldn’t be awakened. Whether you pushed him, shook him, or shouted in his ear, he simply didn’t respond. Sometimes, beneath his closed eyelids, his eyeballs would move rapidly, as if he, too, wanted to wake up but couldn’t.

Meng Qianzi was so anxious her scalp was throbbing, though she tried to reassure herself this wasn’t an insurmountable problem: it had happened before—during their first formal meeting, Jiang Lian had been trapped in the spirit eye state and didn’t wake even when kicked to the ground.

Shen Gun stood beside her, adding to her worry: “I’ve heard that according to old traditions, spirit eyes shouldn’t be applied at night because night belongs to yin energy, when hundreds of ghosts roam. Wow, consciousness becomes very unstable then…”

Meng Qianzi countered: “Jiang Lian has applied spirit eyes at night before.”

Shen Gun shut her down with one sentence: “Evening and midnight are very different.”

…

Near noon, Xian Qionghua’s group returned to camp. After hearing about the situation, she came to examine Jiang Lian.

Having heard much about spirit eyes and being familiar with their workings, she suggested to Meng Qianzi, “Why not try slapping him? Burning or dousing with water works too. Something should wake him up.”

Meng Qianzi disagreed: “In this environment, pouring water on him could freeze him to death! Besides, Jiang Lian’s injuries haven’t healed yet—how could he withstand being hit?”

Xian Qionghua said, “Well, I’ve given you the solution. If you can’t bear to do it, what can I do?”

With that, she walked away, apparently not taking the matter seriously.

While Meng Qianzi was at her wits’ end, Shen Gun offered another opinion: “Wait, Miss Meng, Little Lian Lian’s condition seems special this time—he applied spirit eyes last night, but afterwards, he woke up and participated in the discussion.”

That was correct, and Shen Gun’s words made Meng Qianzi’s heart race: “So?”

“He only got like this after going back to sleep. Little Lian Lian has applied spirit eyes many times, and he’s different from us. He easily experiences consciousness-level ‘sleepwalking.’ In folk tales, this is called ‘losing one’s soul.’ Some lose it for three to five days, others for three to five years—I suggest you hit him quickly. I’ve heard Little Lian Lian can run fast, so his soul probably isn’t slow either. If you wait longer, who knows where he’ll run off to?”

What nonsense was this? Meng Qianzi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but Shen Gun’s words successfully made her even more anxious. She hesitated, looking at Jiang Lian’s sleeping face, then gritted her teeth and delivered a sharp slap.

Although Shen Gun had encouraged her to hit Jiang Lian, he hadn’t expected Meng Qianzi to act so quickly. He was startled, and after recovering, felt a new respect for her: having sat on the throne for so long, Meng Qianzi truly possessed the air of decisive authority—when she decided to strike, she did so without hesitation.

Jiang Lian’s only reaction was that half his face quickly turned red. Without unexpected developments, it would likely swell soon. Meng Qianzi’s slap was no mere gesture.

If slapping couldn’t wake him, the situation seemed truly serious. Meng Qianzi moved aside and gestured to Shen Gun: “My leg prevents me from doing this properly. You try—kick him somewhere with thick flesh.”

Shen Gun hesitated briefly, then aimed a fierce kick at Jiang Lian’s waist—an area he deemed fleshy. However, being naturally uncoordinated, his aim was terrible, like a slingshot missing by miles. This kick somehow landed on Jiang Lian’s ribs.

Meng Qianzi’s heart tightened, feeling Jiang Lian’s pain herself.

Shen Gun’s kick not only shifted Jiang Lian’s body but also caused him to lose balance and fall on his backside. His tailbone, which had previously been injured when destroying a poisonous insect through sitting, flared with old pain. He howled in agony, curled up on the ground for quite some time.

Meng Qianzi’s mind raced, a thousand thoughts flashing through: honestly, if the “beating” approach didn’t work, she was truly at a loss regarding what to do for Jiang Lian.

In desperation, she asked: “If… if Jiang Lian can’t wake naturally, should I find someone to… summon his soul back?”

The words “summon his soul” reminded Shen Gun of something. He stopped groaning, paused for two seconds, then attempted a kip-up but failed to rise: “Miss Meng… pull me up, I have another solution! I have a divine artifact!”

Meng Qianzi grabbed Shen Gun’s collar and forcefully pulled him to a sitting position: “What divine artifact?”

Shen Gun’s neck was nearly choked by his collar, and he could barely breathe. Despite this, he managed to twist his mouth, gesturing toward his luggage bag in the corner of the tent: “The package Old Shi sent me, remember? That bell, the Sheng family’s road bell. I’ve kept it with me since receiving it—it’s in there.”

Meng Qianzi efficiently opened the luggage bag and retrieved the road bell from a bubble-wrapped package inside.

This was her first close look at the road bell: bronze-colored, with a lotus leaf-shaped cap from which hung various ancient coins of different shapes—some square with holes, others knife-shaped. The knife coins supposedly appeared during the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, confirming Jiang Lian’s speculation: when this bell was first removed from the box, it surely didn’t look like this. Later generations of the Sheng family had “dressed” different bells according to their preferences.

This “Old Shi” didn’t value the bell much: it was covered in verdigris, with years of accumulated dirt in some of the recessed patterns. In an antique market, it might fetch a paltry sum; for something called a divine artifact, it certainly didn’t look the part.

Holding the bell, Meng Qianzi urged Shen Gun: “What next? How do I use it?”

Shen Gun replied: “Just keep ringing it beside Little Lian Lian. It’s guaranteed to work. I lived with Old Shi for several years, and he told me many things about the Sheng family.”

“Bell sounds are the only sounds that can penetrate both the yin and yang realms. Scientifically speaking, bell sounds can travel from this material world into the non-material world of consciousness, and the consciousness world is vast. Little Lian Lian is likely lost and can’t find his way back. The bell sound serves as a line, a guiding rope that can lead him back—of course, this is just my theory and might not work, but you should try it. Trying doesn’t cost anything.”

Damn it—after speaking so convincingly, as if it were all true, he had to add that final disclaimer. Meng Qianzi nearly spat blood in frustration.

But whatever—if there was a solution, she’d try it. Meng Qianzi raised her hand, about to ring the bell, when suddenly she heard a buzzing electric sound.

It was the walkie-talkie attached to her wheelchair.

This walkie-talkie was used for communicating with Fourth Mother and the others, and had been kept “on.” Meng Qianzi paused, raising her hand in a “shh” gesture, signaling Shen Gun to be quiet.

But clearly, the current communication quality was quite poor. Jing Rusi had said a long string of words, but all that came through was jumbled static. From beginning to end, Meng Qianzi only heard three words.

“Zi… drawing… water…”

How was she supposed to understand that? Meng Qianzi tried to call back but failed: truly, troubles never came singly.

Fortunately, Seventh Mother also had a walkie-talkie on the same frequency. Let her try to make contact. Besides, judging from Fourth Mother’s tone, she didn’t seem to be in danger, and techniques like the Mountain Wind Attraction still appeared to be functioning normally.

Meng Qianzi sighed deeply, steadying herself to focus on the immediate situation.

She picked up the wind chime and shook it near Jiang Lian’s head. Her expression changed, and just as she was about to question Shen Gun, he preemptively guessed her confusion and quickly explained: “That’s right, there’s no sound, and that’s correct. Only the resentful energy of the dead can make this bell ring. You’re just trying to find a person—you can’t hear the sound it makes anyway.”

Fine, whatever he said was true, as long as it worked in the end.

Meng Qianzi patiently continued.

Before falling asleep, Jiang Lian hadn’t noticed anything unusual, only feeling tired—exhausted like never before.

He had applied spirit eyes at night before, but mostly because he worked slowly and continued after sunset. Starting the application at midnight was extremely rare. Whether it was psychological or not, he felt this place was different from others—too vast and too desolate.

Perhaps the ancestors’ rule against applying spirit eyes at midnight had merit. He shouldn’t have repeatedly crossed that red line.

But he had been too exhausted. With his down jacket only half removed, one arm still in its sleeve, he had fallen asleep.

Then, he felt himself rising and slowly walking outside.

This sensation wasn’t unfamiliar; he experienced it every time he applied spirit eyes: each time, he would rise like this and walk outside, reaching the scene of the incident. Those people would still be there, those past events would still be occurring. He would stand aside, observing, as if he were directing the scene, making them rewind or freeze at will, until he understood everything clearly, only then allowing the curtain to fall.

He walked outside, into the sunlight, beside Yan Luo and Grandma Duan. Grandma Duan was taking photos with steady hands and elegant posture, even unwrapping a chocolate candy and popping it into her mouth.

He continued walking, reaching the scene where the divine tribe sealed the box. It was the same as before, like countless severed limbs floating in mid-air. He saw someone who looked identical to Shen Gun—he believed this person must have some intricate connection with Shen Gun.

This person was carefully counting the items in the box, his gaze somewhat shifty, as if his attention wasn’t fully on the box’s contents. Jiang Lian saw animal bones clustered in the corner of the box and a small mound of soil hovering inside, constantly jumping as if trying to grow in all directions but constrained by some force, unable to extend outward, thus restlessly jumping without stopping.

Having seen everything, he should return now.

Jiang Lian turned and walked toward the camp. The camp was lit, with people sitting in groups inside the Mongolian-style tents. He saw Meng Qianzi smiling at him.

He walked toward her, wanting to tell her he had seen everything, that she needn’t worry, that he would draw it all.

But suddenly, he couldn’t move forward anymore.

He couldn’t reach the camp. That area seemed to float on an endless ocean, gradually drifting away from him. Behind him, there seemed to be an enormous suction force. Seductive voices, like an overwhelming tide, covered him and seeped through every pore of his body.

And each voice was saying to him: “Come here.”