Meng Qianzi shone her flashlight and carefully peered outside the “door.”

It truly was an enormous bottomless pit. The pit walls weren’t smooth but uneven and pitted. The flashlight beam only reached a few dozen meters down before being swallowed by darkness. What lay further below was impossible to see, but… perhaps one could climb down.

Mountain ghost knocks at the door—but where was the door? Surely it couldn’t be this door-shaped cross-section? Or perhaps there had originally been a door here, but Grandma Duan had already knocked it open and kicked it into the bottomless pit?

Moreover, one of the golden bells’ talismanic patterns was called “Knocking the Door,” but like “Activating the Heavenly Ladder,” it had long been lost. So even if there were a door here, she wouldn’t know how to knock on it.

The darkness was so vast and empty that Meng Qianzi felt a chill as she looked into it. She tried to reason with herself: Wasn’t the main purpose of this expedition to search and rescue? Now she was alone, without even a reliable companion. What door would she knock on?

She wouldn’t knock. Even with the door right in front of her, she wouldn’t knock. If something went wrong, it would be a tremendous loss.

Just as she was about to pull back, her body’s movement caused the flashlight beam to sweep across an area five or six meters diagonally below.

At the edge of the light beam was a palm-sized, uneven-edged, grayish-brown… paper?

Meng Qianzi found this strange and crouched down for a closer look.

As she studied it, something stirred in her mind.

It wasn’t paper but a fragment of cowhide, resting on a slanted, protruding rock. Though air existed in this bottomless pit, the circulation was extremely weak, so the fragment had remained there for who knows how many years.

Meng Qianzi suddenly remembered the mountain mirage where Yama, riding on a yak, had held up a map—that map had been made of tanned cowhide.

Could this fragment be something… Yama had lost?

Her heart pounded as she carefully moved her flashlight beam back and forth over the area. Sure enough, seven or eight meters below the first fragment, she discovered two more, both irregularly shaped—one smaller, one more elongated.

It felt as if Yama had once stood here, torn apart the cowhide scroll in his hand, and scattered the pieces downward, with a few pieces caught on the protruding jagged rock walls.

Meng Qianzi looked back at Shi Xiaohai.

He seemed somewhat afraid of the dark and heights. His head was peeking through the doorway, but his body remained completely outside.

Meng Qianzi asked him, “Do you know how to keep watch?”

Shi Xiaohai replied, “You mean stand guard.”

As he spoke, he widened his eyes and made a gesture of vigilantly surveying the surroundings.

Meng Qianzi sighed. How unfortunate she was to be stuck with such a “partner.” Truthfully, she would have found it much easier to operate alone.

She said, “You keep watch here. Stay alert. If anything bad comes, shout. I’m going down to get something. I’ll be quick.”

Without waiting for Shi Xiaohai to respond, she had already moved down the rock wall.

Mountain ghosts were naturally skilled climbers, and Meng Qianzi also had wall-climbing gecko skills as a foundation. This type of rock wall posed no real challenge for her. However, she had to be careful not to put weight on her injured leg, which took some time. Eventually, she retrieved all three fragments—she suspected there might be more further down, but the flashlight couldn’t reach that far. Besides, hanging on the rock wall made her paranoid, fearing monsters might appear below or someone might sabotage her from above, so she quickly climbed back up.

Shi Xiaohai asked curiously, “Where’s the thing?”

In his mind, a “thing” must have shape, form, and substantial size.

Meng Qianzi ignored him. She looked around to ensure nothing was amiss, then sighed and leaned against the rock wall to examine the fragments in her hand.

First, she looked at the most elongated piece.

—Nine entrances to the mountain intestines, seven lead to death and two to escape. Enter not empty-handed, leave not all who enter.

Meng Qianzi wasn’t particularly skilled at solving riddles, but these sentences were fairly straightforward: The Nine Winding Intestines wound through this mountain, likely with nine external entrances. “Seven lead to death and two to escape” probably referred to something like the “life doors” and “death doors” in ancient mechanisms, suggesting seven were dead ends and two could lead to an exit.

Her heart raced: Who knew whether the two entrances the mountain ghosts had used to enter the intestines were life doors or death doors.

“Enter not empty-handed” likely meant one should bring certain items when entering.

“Leave not all who enter” meant…

Meng Qianzi remembered the mountain household member devoured by stone insects and He Shengzhi, and she shuddered involuntarily: Was this hinting that some who entered would inevitably be left behind as sacrifices?

Back then, only Yama and Grandma Duan had entered. “Leave not all who enter”—Yama had left, and Grandma Duan… had stayed?

She looked at the second fragment.

—Prepare six people, or six cattle and sheep will also suffice. They suck marrow and devour flesh. Without sacrifice, none shall pass; without passing, none shall reach the door…

Meng Qianzi couldn’t help looking toward He Shengzhi’s corpse.

This must be referring to this section of the path. So initially, “six people” were needed. She was fortunate this time: In such a place, feeding must be difficult, and one feeding could last many years. Since they had fed in the 1970s, they weren’t desperately hungry yet. Among the six stem locations, only the one where the sheep carcass had fallen showed signs of activity…

“Without passing, none shall reach the door”—the door likely refers to the “door” that mountain ghosts knock on. From another perspective, these stems truly seemed like doorkeepers.

The third fragment.

—When dawn and dusk divide, the door within the door appears. Nine Winding Intestines, three rotations per day. To exit the intestine’s mouth, seek the hand to the left of the door.

These sentences contained too much information. Meng Qianzi didn’t understand them on her first reading. Now she better understood why Kuang family descendants didn’t take Ancestor Kuang’s words seriously. Even she, who knew the background and context, found it bewildering, let alone them.

She sat down with her back against the rock wall. Shi Xiaohai squatted down beside her. He wasn’t interested in the fragments and instead began drawing on the rock wall with a photosensitive rock pencil.

Meng Qianzi silently recited these sentences several times.

The first two sentences seemed to say that at a specific time, another door would appear within the door. Meng Qianzi vaguely felt that this second door was the one mountain ghosts needed to knock on—the crucial one.

But what time was “when dawn and dusk divide”? She wished Shen Gun were here: With him around, she wouldn’t need to struggle with these ancient expressions.

But never mind, it must be either midnight or dawn.

The important part was the last few sentences.

“Nine Winding Intestines, three rotations per day” sounded very troubling. It suggested the mountain intestines were alive—earlier, while wandering through the intestinal passages, she had wished for a route map. Now it seemed that would be impossible. These mountain intestines “rotated three times a day,” averaging one rotation every eight hours. With nine intestines, how many intersecting connections must there be? Just by shifting a few and rearranging a few, the route would become completely different.

The arrows and directions they had left earlier apparently had a time limit. No matter how many people came fumbling around, it was meaningless. Without finding the key, they would only die trapped here.

“To exit the intestine’s mouth, seek the hand to the left of the door”—it seemed that, no matter what, she should stay here, waiting until “dawn and dusk divide,” waiting for the door within the door to appear, so she could seek the hand to the left of the door.

Since she needed to keep watch anyway, and with nothing else to do, Meng Qianzi wrote warnings at both ends of the sheep gallery passage—having once defaced a toilet and terrorized Meng Jinsong, she had a talent for writing attention-grabbing content.

Shi Xiaohai followed her like a shadow, watching as she wrote. After a while, he began yawning repeatedly and mumbled, “Miss Meng, you should sleep.”

She really should sleep. She was already injured, and after a day of using “Mountain Wind Inducement” and “Repel Mountain Beasts,” she was exhausted to her bones. Especially with Shi Xiaohai yawning beside her, making her eyelids feel heavy.

But in their current situation, how could she dare to sleep?

She placated Shi Xiaohai: “If you want to sleep, go ahead.”

Surprisingly, Shi Xiaohai had a sense of responsibility: “According to the rules, you should sleep, and I should keep watch, because you outrank me.”

What did he mean by “you outrank me”? Meng Qianzi couldn’t be bothered to respond.

After finishing writing a line of text, she turned around to find Shi Xiaohai sprawled against a rock, mouth half-open, already asleep.

He was sleeping… so soundly.

Meng Qianzi took out a small bundle of plastic lines from her mountain ghost basket and set up defenses around their resting area. These specially-made plastic lines were extremely thin and transparent, easily tied to the uneven places on the rock walls. This way, though it appeared they were resting in a corner with no protection, the approaching section was crisscrossed with horizontal and diagonal fine lines—if anything approached, these would at least provide some resistance and serve as an early warning.

After completing these preparations, Meng Qianzi sat down diagonally across from Shi Xiaohai, heaving a long sigh. She still didn’t dare close her eyes. Looking at Shi Xiaohai sleeping so peacefully, she felt a twinge of jealousy.

She thought of Jiang Lian.

Previously, during several dangerous situations, Jiang Lian had insisted on keeping watch, always trying to allow her to sleep.

Back then, she had slept so peacefully, without worry or unease, enjoying it with a clear conscience—now she had to stay alert to protect others, but why was she protecting Shi Xiaohai of all people?

However… Jiang Lian should also be sound asleep now. He rarely got to sleep like this, without worries or concerns for her safety.

Meng Qianzi smiled. She could just pretend she was watching over Jiang Lian, too.

She yawned, using her hands to prop open her eyelids, struggling not to fall asleep, silently calculating the time where Jiang Lian was.

Seventh Mother had said they had sent someone to collect blood from that Sheng family daughter. Drawing blood would be quick, and flying to Qinghai would also be fast. The slow part was the journey into the mountain, on foot and by yak—it would take at least… two days?

She fell into a daze.

Where would she be two days from now? Would she have left the mountain, or would she still be trapped here? She should still be… alive, right?

And what about Fourth Mother, Seventh Mother, and the others? Who knew which mountain intestine they had been diverted to? Looking on the bright side, perhaps if she waited a while longer, they might circle from somewhere.

…

When you want to sleep but can’t, time always passes exceptionally slowly. The mountain had strong magnetic fields that disabled even anti-magnetic mechanical watches. Meng Qianzi could only count to keep track of time, but she was too tired. As she counted, her mind would go blank, suddenly freezing up. Sometimes, she would have her eyes open but then suddenly realize with horror that she had been dozing off.

During another moment of dazed counting, Shi Xiaohai, beside her, rolled over and then sat up: “Miss Meng, I need to use the bathroom.”

What kind of day was this, having to manage someone else’s bodily functions?

Meng Qianzi stood up, unfastened several plastic lines set up on one side of the passage, and pointed to a spot within her sight: “Go over there, turn your back, just don’t face me.”

Surprisingly, Shi Xiaohai blushed, awkwardly clutching the edge of his pants: “That’s… not appropriate.”

Meng Qianzi responded irritably: “I’m not bothered by it, why are you being so prissy?”

Shi Xiaohai’s face turned even redder: “Take… taking pants off and such.”

Good grief, was he deliberately trying to annoy her? Meng Qianzi glared at Shi Xiaohai for a full five seconds, suppressing her anger, then shouted: “Let’s go!”

Ideally, she would find a dead-end tunnel, leave him there, and wait in a nearby branch passage. But there were no dead ends here. With no other option, Meng Qianzi found a relatively long branching tunnel and told Shi Xiaohai to go to the middle to relieve himself while she watched from the entrance. Thank goodness Shi Xiaohai had found Yama’s fur robe—whether he squatted or took off his pants, the robe would cover him, so she wouldn’t see anything.

Yet Shi Xiaohai was embarrassed to the point of almost crying: “Miss Meng, could you please not look at me? I can’t go with you watching.”

Meng Qianzi had no choice but to turn around.

Shi Xiaohai still couldn’t go. Though he was somewhat foolish now, his sense of shame remained: Using the bathroom would smell, and if he passed gas, it would be loud…

He half-squatted, inching farther away.

Meng Qianzi stood with her arms crossed. For safety, she still had to talk to him: “Make a sound every so often so I know you’re there. Otherwise, I won’t even know if someone kidnaps you.”

Shi Xiaohai grunted in acknowledgment and continued moving farther away. When he almost reached the end, he really couldn’t hold it anymore and suddenly darted into the branch tunnel.

Hearing the movement, Meng Qianzi quickly turned around. Seeing this situation made her furious, but she had no choice but to follow. Just after passing the end of the tunnel, intending to scold him, she caught a glimpse of Shi Xiaohai already squatting down. At the same time, she smelled the stench of an upset stomach and had to retreat.

She backed up a few steps.

It was humiliating—she had to do this sort of thing. If only she had someone competent by her side, she wouldn’t need to deal with this!

Meng Qianzi held her nose and walked a few steps away, then shouted at him: “Can you make some noise?”

After a while, she heard Shi Xiaohai throwing pebbles on the other end, with quite a rhythm.

Fine, let him throw pebbles. With her “Repel Mountain Beasts” in effect, they wouldn’t be stone insects anyway.

The monotonous sound of throwing pebbles continued for quite some time before Shi Xiaohai slowly emerged from the branch tunnel. Whether from embarrassment or something else, he kept his head down, avoiding her gaze.

With the smell of excrement in the air, Meng Qianzi covered her nose, not bothering to say much: “Let’s go, hurry back.”

Shi Xiaohai mumbled a response.

Upon returning to their resting place, Meng Qianzi reset the plastic lines. When she looked back, Shi Xiaohai had curled up in a corner, head lowered, asleep. His large felt hat was pulled low, and the fur robe covered half his face.

Meng Qianzi was now completely awake.

For some reason, Shi Xiaohai now gave her a strange feeling.

She stared at him for a while, then called out: “Shi Xiaohai?”

Without opening his eyes, Shi Xiaohai responded with a vague, impatient grunt.

She made conversation: “After using the bathroom, why didn’t you use wet wipes to clean your hands?”

Shi Xiaohai didn’t even grunt this time. From his demeanor, he seemed to be almost asleep.

Meng Qianzi stared at Shi Xiaohai. She smelled the scent of blood, along with a strange stench.

Her heart gradually turned cold. She reached for her gun but still clung to a thread of hope: “Shi Xiaohai, stand up for a moment.”

She raised her voice: “Don’t pretend you can’t hear me. Now, get up!”

Shi Xiaohai grunted impatiently, shifted his body, and slowly stood up.

Meng Qianzi watched him for a moment, then suddenly raised her gun and pointed it at him: “Lift your head, don’t keep it down. And open your eyes.”

Shi Xiaohai slowly raised his head.

He still hadn’t opened his eyes. His lips were deathly pale, his expression eerily disturbing.

Meng Qianzi also stood up: “Who are you?”

Before she finished speaking, something suddenly darted out from under the fur robe. At the same time, Shi Xiaohai’s head rolled to the ground with a thud.