When Meng Qianzi reached school age, she began receiving primary education. While other students attended after-school tutoring, she did as well, except her studies all related to mountains, and her instructors rotated among her seven mothers.

As mentioned earlier, Meng Qianzi was a troublemaker in her youth. Sleeping in class, not doing homework, and giving irrelevant answers were common occurrences. Even when her mothers taught her, she showed little respect.

She remembered clearly that Third Mother Ni Qiuhui had taught her the lesson on “Mountain Intestines.”

At that time, Ni Qiuhui showed her a projection image—a simple drawing depicting mountain intestines: a mountain with a passage running through its core.

Ni Qiuhui explained: “These are mountain intestines, just like human intestines. Sometimes they run through—enter from one opening and exit from another on the opposite side of the mountain. Sometimes they’re dead ends, and you can only return the way you came…”

Meng Qianzi raised her hand abruptly.

Ni Qiuhui asked with a pleasant expression: “Qianqian, do you have a question?”

“Yes! Second Mother took me to watch pig slaughtering last time. Pigs have so many intestines. Third Mother, are there more pig intestines or mountain intestines?”

Ni Qiuhui was speechless.

Meng Qianzi, thinking herself clever, continued: “I think there are more mountain intestines, since mountains are bigger than pigs.”

Ni Qiuhui didn’t know whether to laugh or cry: “Typically, mountains only have one or two intestines, at most three to five. In the mountains explored by Mountain Ghosts so far, the maximum found is five, and those are relatively simple passages. However, according to legend, the most terrifying mountains have ‘Nine Winding Intestines.'”

Meng Qianzi immediately perked up—children have no inhibitions, and hearing the word “terrifying” only excited her.

She asked: “Why are they terrifying? Are there ghosts inside?”

Ni Qiuhui demonstrated with gestures: “Nine Winding Intestines means a mountain has nine openings in different locations, with nine winding intestinal passages leading into the mountain’s core. But nine intestines doesn’t mean just nine paths—because they twist, intersect, branch, and interweave. They coil inside the mountain’s belly. Imagine a giant maze of mountain intestines, where each junction offers paths upward, downward, left, right, curved, and diagonal.”

Meng Qianzi pondered this and said, “That sounds fun. We could play hide-and-seek there.”

Ni Qiuhui replied: “Once you enter, you’ll realize it’s not fun at all. Qianqian, have you learned the idiom ‘liver and intestines broken into inches’ (meaning extreme grief)?”

She lowered her voice: “Think about it—inside the mountain’s belly, it’s pitch black. The passages vary in size; in the narrower ones, you can only crawl on your knees, and you might even get stuck. As you crawl along, if you’re not careful and suddenly fall into a break in the intestine, do you know how far down you could drop? Enough to break your intestines.”

Her eerie tone frightened Meng Qianzi, who broke out in a cold sweat but refused to show weakness: “Then I’ll bring a flashlight and crawl carefully. Wouldn’t that work?”

Ni Qiuhui shook her head: “What if there are ghosts inside? They’ll crawl behind you and, when you’re not paying attention, grab your heel…”

Meng Qianzi unconsciously pulled in her feet.

Ni Qiuhui giggled, satisfied with her teaching effect. She felt that scaring a mischievous child like Meng Qianzi was beneficial, though she also needed to provide some reassurance to avoid frightening her too much: “But don’t worry, Nine Winding Intestines are just a legend. No one has seen them. If you ever do encounter them in the future, remember to stay far away. Our ancestor grandmother left a saying: ‘Mountain Ghost’s life ends in Nine Winding Intestines’—of the Mountain Ghosts who enter Nine Winding Intestines, nine out of ten never return. It’s said that evil spirits inhabit each section of the intestinal passage. They’ve been trapped inside for too long and are too lonely, so they’ll catch you to keep them company.”

Meng Qianzi’s eyes darted around: “Then how do we avoid them? How do I know if an entrance leads to a normal mountain intestine or Nine Winding Intestines?”

Ni Qiuhui answered that it was simple.

You can lean your body into the cave entrance and shout.

In ordinary mountain caves or intestines, the echo would be normal. But Nine Winding Intestines are different. If they’re empty and deathly silent, your voice will be instantly devoured upon entering, leaving no echo at all. However, if people are inside and encountering those evil spirits—being devoured alive by them—your voice will act like a hook, drawing out countless wailing shrieks like ghosts crying. These sounds will rise, steaming, lasting a long time, not only feeling as if they’re right beside your ear but also escaping the cave entrance and spreading across the mountain. Even wild beasts roaming the mountainside would tremble upon hearing them.

…

This was a Nine Winding Intestines. The two “well openings” before them were likely two intestinal entrances. Though they appeared close together, once inside, one might veer left and the other right, leading in completely different directions.

By now, the nearby mountain dwellers had also heard the ghostly wails emanating from the “well openings,” causing their hair to stand on end. One of the braver ones cautiously asked her, “Miss Meng, should we… go back for rescue?”

Meng Qianzi replied: “No need. Seventh Mother knows something is wrong and is certainly hurrying back. If she can arrange rescue, it will be faster than if we went back to get help.”

As she spoke, she looked around.

She had a rough idea of what had happened to Jing Rusi’s group: based on the smells she had detected earlier, there was more than one snow creature. They moved incredibly fast, were difficult to target, and possessed tremendous destructive power. Fourth Mother and her team had likely employed a risky strategy, attempting to eliminate these creatures using a deliberate avalanche.

But clearly…

Her gaze fell again on the tuft of long hair stuck at the intestinal entrance: the snow creatures weren’t so foolish. The avalanche had merely paused the confrontation between the two sides, not ended it.

Then, Fourth Mother and her team discovered these intestinal openings and hurriedly took shelter inside, sending out a distress signal—they probably hadn’t realized that this was a Nine Winding Intestines.

She pondered for a moment, then asked: “Do you have rope?”

The mountain dweller named Huang Song, who had suggested going back for rescue, quickly understood her intention: “Miss Meng, are you thinking of… sending someone in to explore?”

Meng Qianzi had considered this: even if Seventh Mother arrived as quickly as possible, it would still take about an hour. During that hour, they couldn’t just stand guard at the entrance, doing nothing.

But sending someone into the cave was too risky.

She said, “Prepare the ropes first.”

…

Mountain Ghost baskets contained thin, durable rope coils. While Huang Song and the others knotted the ropes, Meng Qianzi rolled up her pant leg, revealing her golden bell anklet. Then she lay prone on the ground, inserted her hands into the snow, and silently recited an incantation.

After a while, she raised her head and looked around.

There was no choice; under these circumstances, she couldn’t risk sending people inside. Fortunately, despite the extreme cold of the high mountains and snow peaks, some animals still lived there. Since the intestinal passages might narrow, she hoped to summon some smaller creatures—but this depended on luck. Commanding mountain beasts required having mountain beasts nearby to command; if there were none, the incantation would be useless.

Huang Song and the others guessed her intention and mentally tallied what animals might exist near the snow line of the Kunlun Mountains: mountain yaks were too large and might block the passages; brown bears were also too big.

After consideration, wolves and snow leopards seemed most suitable…

As they pondered, Meng Qianzi’s nostrils twitched slightly. Her heart leaped with joy, and she said: “They’re coming.”

Coming? Huang Song and his companions lacked her abilities and could only look around in confusion. After a while, they faintly heard the sound of flapping wings. One mountain dweller exclaimed: “Mountain hawk!”

It didn’t seem like that, as the wing-flapping sounds were quite chaotic and lacked the powerful, crisp quality of mountain hawks. After a moment, a group of about twenty small creatures waddled down the northern slope. They were quite small, resembling large gray pigeons…

What were these creatures? Meng Qianzi didn’t recognize them. While she was puzzled, Huang Song called out: “Snow chickens! They’re snow chickens!”

Chickens? In a place cold enough to freeze spiders to death, how could chickens survive?

Huang Song was a local from the Northwest and familiar with the mountain birds and beasts. He quickly explained to Meng Qianzi: “Miss Meng, these are snow chickens, the highest-altitude birds in the pheasant family. They can survive at altitudes of up to 6,000 meters without issue—they don’t fear the cold. And they move in flocks; a snow chicken group has at least a dozen members.”

Snow chickens thrived at high altitudes because they primarily fed on plant roots, occasionally eating snow lotus seeds and cordyceps. Before Liberation, people who caught snow chickens would immediately cut open their stomachs to check for undigested expensive medicinal herbs.

Had a flock of chickens come? Back in Xiangxi, hundreds of beasts had responded to her call, even tigers had appeared…

Well… the difference between the two locations was quite significant.

The flock of snow chickens continued their unhurried approach, clustered together, lifting and turning their little feet. Soon they gathered before Meng Qianzi, each raising its chicken head, blinking its small eyes.

Meng Qianzi had never been surrounded by so many chickens before and felt like someone feeding a flock.

Nevertheless, she would work with what she had.

She selected two that looked the most formidable, placed separate rope loops around their necks, and released them into the two intestinal openings. Considering that chickens are night-blind, and snow chickens probably weren’t much better, she attached glow-in-the-dark rings to them.

The two snow chickens, dragging their thin ropes, waddled into the depths of the intestinal passages.

Meng Qianzi couldn’t monitor both entrances alone, so she gave one rope to Huang Song while keeping the other, slowly feeding length into the intestinal passage.

The snow chickens moved at a steady pace, so the rope played out slowly and smoothly. Since no one was leaning in to shout into the passages anymore, the two “well openings” resembled deep black holes, deathly still, making people’s hearts race. No matter how chaotic the sounds inside, they wouldn’t emerge unless someone “fished” for them from outside. So if anything happened to the snow chickens, those outside wouldn’t know—they could only make guesses based on slight movements of the rope.

Meng Qianzi had a sudden thought: could this “Nine Winding Intestines” be some advanced acoustic structure? Was it naturally formed or man-made?

Both seemed plausible. Shen Gun had once said that nature holds all answers.

Of the twenty-some snow chickens, two had gone in, leaving eighteen or nineteen clustered nearby. They say “quiet as a hen,” but these snow chickens weren’t quiet at all. Their calls sounded like “oh,” and a flock of chickens together meant constant ohing. Meng Qianzi found it annoying and glared at them fiercely.

This glare was quite powerful—the flock of snow chickens suddenly became as still as wooden chickens.

After feeding rope for about ten minutes, Huang Song’s rope showed the first sign of trouble: it suddenly jerked inward about two meters, then stopped moving entirely.

His scalp prickled with fear. Everyone nearby saw the dramatic movement, and Meng Qianzi’s heart also tightened. She said, “Pull it back and see what’s happening.”

Huang Song swallowed and slowly pulled back. Whether there was weight on the other end would be immediately apparent. Huang Song gave just one tug and immediately shook his head: “Nothing—the chicken is gone.”

As he spoke, he pulled faster and faster. In less than two minutes, the rope was retrieved. The snow chicken had indeed vanished. There was a break in the rope, and the cross-section was very irregular, definitely not cut by a knife or similar tool.

Most likely, it had been bitten through.

The ropeless end lay limply on the ground, conveying an extremely ominous message. The remaining snow chickens trembled with fear, huddling together in a tight cluster.

The rope in Meng Qianzi’s hand was still moving. She harbored a glimmer of hope, thinking perhaps the intestinal passage she had sent her snow chicken into was relatively safer. However, this hope lasted less than five minutes: her rope also stopped moving.

Testing it, she found there seemed to be no weight on the other end either.

Meng Qianzi sighed. She had originally thought that since the Nine Winding Intestines were so complex, the mountain dwellers who entered might have become lost. By sending in snow chickens, if they happened to meet, the mountain dwellers could follow the rope to find their way out.

This approach clearly wouldn’t work.

She felt somewhat defeated and slowly pulled back the rope. In the wilderness, rope is always useful and shouldn’t be casually discarded.

After pulling for about two minutes, she suddenly heard strange sounds coming from the intestinal opening.

Nine Winding Intestines could swallow sounds, but if sounds were very close to the entrance, the human ear could still detect them through air transmission.

The sound was odd, like wing-flapping but heavier and more sluggish than mere air movement, interspersed with uncomfortable crackling noises. Meng Qianzi’s heart tightened. She aimed her gun inward and said, “Be alert.”

The mountain dwellers reacted quickly, either holding guns or raising crossbows. They say one man guarding a pass can hold off ten thousand, and now four or five people with weapons were aimed at a small “well opening.” Even if a snow creature burst out, they could ensure it wouldn’t return. Even if it triggered another avalanche—so what? People were sheltered by large rocks anyway; snow would be blocked by stone.

Just then, the outline of something appeared in the dark opening.

Not large, desperately flying and rushing, two fleshy wings flapping…

Wasn’t this the snow chicken?

Meng Qianzi immediately understood why there had been no weight on the rope earlier when she pulled it back. The snow chicken had been desperately running toward them, moving faster than she was pulling the rope, so she had felt as if she were pulling an empty rope.

Wait, something wasn’t right.

Meng Qianzi stared at the silhouette. It was now very late, and she would need to wait until the snow chicken came much closer to see it…

She gasped while those beside her let out cries of horror.

It was indeed the snow chicken, and it was still running. But its feathers were completely gone, as was its skin, and its head looked strange. It appeared to be a bloody chicken form jumping and running. Meng Qianzi heard a scattered clanging sound, like small stones falling to the ground, but before she could discern it more clearly, the snow chicken had already rushed out, bringing with it the smell of blood.

Meng Qianzi sidestepped to avoid the snow chicken, keeping her gun pointed into the passage. She instinctively felt that the snow chicken’s frantic flight meant something must be pursuing it.

However, the intestinal passage fell silent again, with nothing emerging. Shining a flashlight inside revealed only a short stretch of jagged stone walls; beyond that, the passage bent and changed direction.

Behind her, the alarmed “oh” calls of the fleeing snow chicken flock were incessant. Meng Qianzi turned to look.

The snow chicken, or blood chicken, now lay fallen on the snowy ground. The bright red blood had stained a small area around it, but it quickly froze due to the extreme cold. Huang Song and another mountain dweller were crouching beside it, examining it closely. After a while, Huang Song quickly approached.

“It seems to have been gnawed by something. All its skin and feathers have been eaten away, half its head is missing, one leg is almost severed with only a bit of skin connecting it, and one wing is also gone—rushing out of the cave opening was just momentum. I estimate it was already nearly dead by then.”

Meng Qianzi acknowledged with a sound, about to say something, when she noticed the dejected, terrified state of the remaining snow chickens. She said, “If you’ve verified everything, quickly bury it with snow. Don’t let them keep looking at it.”

As she said this, she remembered something: “One wing is also gone? Are you sure?”

Huang Song nodded quickly.

That didn’t make sense. When she last saw the snow chicken’s silhouette as it fled outward, she was certain she had seen clearly: the snow chicken was flapping with two fleshy wings.

This meant that right before her eyes, the snow chicken had been continuously gnawed upon?

She immediately instructed Huang Song: “Quick, check if there are any insects or similar creatures on the chicken!”

However, the examination revealed nothing—just a snow chicken.

Meng Qianzi’s heart raced, and she shone the flashlight into the intestinal passage again.

She remembered that when the snow chicken was approaching the exit, she had heard a scattered clanging sound, like small stones falling.

But there was nothing, absolutely nothing. The ground near the exit section of the intestine was perfectly clean, as if swept, with nothing there.

As Meng Qianzi had predicted, Xian Qionghua arrived an hour later.

She came alone, with just one yak, as the others couldn’t arrive so quickly.

After dismounting from the yak, Xian Qionghua also vomited profusely. Meng Qianzi waited for her to finish before explaining the situation here and asking about her progress.

Xian Qionghua knew she was concerned about Jiang Lian: “Jiang Lian is fine. That Shen Gun indeed has a solution. He said it requires blood from the Sheng family. I’ve arranged for mountain dwellers to fetch it, but it will take at least two to three days to arrive.”

That wasn’t all. After seeing the distress signal, Xian Qionghua knew things were bad. Jing Rusi had led over twenty people, all skilled individuals. If this group was in trouble, it meant nearly half of the expedition’s strength was compromised.

So, while the signal was clear, she had requested reinforcements and convinced Gao Jinghong to bring out the Mountain Gallbladder and Phoenix Plume that were stored at Mountain Gui Studio: “Those items are like hot potatoes—not suitable to be kept anywhere. I thought, since you discovered them along the way, you might need them.”

This arrangement was appropriate, but didn’t lighten Meng Qianzi’s mood much. She signaled Huang Song and the others to stand farther away, pulled Xian Qionghua to sit beside her, and said: “Seventh Mother, it’s not a question of how many rescuers come. Even if a hundred rescuers arrived…”

She pointed toward the two dark openings: “Would we dare send people inside? Wouldn’t that be sending them to their deaths?”

This question had crossed her mind countless times before Xian Qionghua’s arrival: with over twenty people missing, she desperately wanted to crawl into the intestinal passages to search, but her leg wouldn’t allow it. Of the four people with her, she dared not send any inside—what if they never returned?

She even felt guilty about the two snow chickens: what had they ever done to deserve this? Normally, they ate snow lotus seeds and cordyceps, living a comfortable little life—then suddenly they were summoned to assist her, only to lose their lives in an instant.

Xian Qionghua was silent for a moment: “Over twenty people—we can’t just abandon them. Fourth Sister is still inside… Sisters must rescue their own. I’ll go.”

Damn, how did the conversation turn to someone else going in?

Meng Qianzi was startled and grabbed Xian Qionghua’s wrist: “Seventh Mother!”

Xian Qionghua smiled and patted the back of Meng Qianzi’s hand: “Sister Zi, you must understand—we hold high positions as Mountain Ghosts, enjoying the best food and drink, having people at our command to handle matters. These benefits aren’t granted without reason. When the most dangerous situations arise, you must step forward yourself. You can’t send ordinary mountain dwellers to tread dangerous ground.”

“You’re right—even if rescuers came, we wouldn’t dare send them in. But someone must enter, so who? It should be us. Our ancestor grandmother gave us these abilities not for play.”

“And right now, who is most suitable to go in? Isn’t it me? Don’t worry, I don’t know what was gnawing on the snow chicken, but as long as it’s a mountain insect or beast, the ‘Avoidance’ technique should work. Besides, it’s likely afraid of fire, so I’ll bring a small flamethrower. Even if I encounter snow creatures, I have a gun—you killed one; how much worse could I be than you?”

As she spoke, Xian Qionghua stood and went to her yak to search for equipment: “Fourth Sister and the others all have Mountain Ghost baskets with provisions for two or three days, so that’s not an issue. As long as they’re holding their ground, they’re likely still alive, just trapped inside.”

“Sister Zi, I have a pen and adhesive paper. The mountain’s magnetic field is strange, and those modern electronic devices are useless now. We can only communicate in the most primitive way—remember, I’ll enter with a rope like the snow chickens did, leaving markers along the way. Whatever I discover, whatever the people coming after me should be aware of, what equipment they should prepare—I’ll write it down and attach the notes to the rope. If I don’t succeed, when you pull the rope out, you’ll see my messages. Hopefully, I can write something useful for you all.”

Huang Song and the others saw Xian Qionghua shoulder her Mountain Ghost basket and strap on the flamethrower. Guessing she intended to enter the intestinal passage, they hesitated before retrieving their equipment.

Xian Qionghua stopped them: “What are you doing? Did I ask you to move?”

Huang Song finally realized: “Seventh… Seventh Aunt, you’re going in alone? That’s… that’s unacceptable!”

The snow chicken’s gruesome state was still fresh in their minds.

Xian Qionghua pointed to the intestinal opening: “Over twenty people are in there, fate unknown. You want to follow me in? I ask you: are you married? Do you have children to support? Parents to care for? With your abilities, are you confident you won’t become a burden to me if you enter?”

Her questions left Huang Song speechless, and the other mountain dwellers exchanged glances without saying a word.

Xian Qionghua gave them no further attention.

Meng Qianzi watched as Xian Qionghua walked toward the opening, her chest heaving dramatically. Suddenly resolute, she said: “Seventh Mother, I’m going too!”

Xian Qionghua’s movement halted, and she turned to look at her: “Have you forgotten you can’t use your leg?”

Meng Qianzi replied: “Actually, I’ve been recovering for seven or eight days already. The bone isn’t damaged, and if I were in a hospital, doctors would recommend getting out of bed and moving around—moderate movement helps with faster recovery. I have strong painkillers in my bag. I’ll give myself an injection for pain relief and walk slowly. If we encounter danger, I’ll try to handle it while leaning or supporting myself, so I won’t injure my leg.”

My goodness, from the sound of it, she was serious.

Xian Qionghua rejected outright: “No, you’re the Mountain Ghost Throne!”

Meng Qianzi countered: “Just now you said those in high positions should face danger, and now you’re stopping me. Seventh Mother, aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“If you don’t let me in, will that stop me? After you go in, I’ll still enter anyway. What about the Mountain Ghost Throne? Before me, the Mountain Ghost Throne was vacant for thirty-two years, and the Mountain Ghosts lived perfectly well, didn’t they?”

“Besides,” at this point, she suddenly smiled and then lowered her voice, “Seventh Mother, I can’t let others say, ‘That Meng Qianzi was willing to risk everything for a man, but now, when over twenty mountain dwellers, her assistant of over ten years, and two of her mothers are in danger, she’s afraid of injuring her leg and just sits watching from the sidelines.'”

“People would look down on me for that, and I… I would look down on myself, too.”