Strictly speaking, the thing that darted out from beneath the robe moved so quickly that, for a brief moment, the robe was still falling and Shi Xiaohai’s head was just beginning to roll.

For an instant, the scene was indescribably bizarre.

Meng Qianzi had only guessed that something was wrong with Shi Xiaohai because after reappearing from the branch tunnel, he had only uttered vague grunts without saying a complete sentence. Thinking back, he had kept his head down at first, then pretended to sleep, never opening his eyes.

But who could have imagined that something was masquerading as his head?

Her gun had originally been pointed at where Shi Xiaohai’s head was positioned. In her haste, she lowered it, but it was too late. That thing instantly lunged at her, knocking her flying.

Meng Qianzi landed heavily, her vision blurring momentarily. Fortunately, she had gripped her gun tightly and hadn’t dropped it. She quickly rolled over and sat up, about to pull the trigger, when a dark shadow flashed before her eyes. The creature was upon her again, its two arms effortlessly grabbing her body and smashing her down once more, like a chef killing a fish by repeatedly slamming it to death.

This time, Meng Qianzi saw stars, her internal organs nearly displaced. Before she could sit up, a dark shadow loomed over her. She felt a heavy weight on her arms and legs, evidently being pinned down by the creature, though her wound wasn’t directly pressed, the force still squeezed it painfully, causing cold sweat to break out on her forehead and back.

Only now did she see the creature’s appearance.

Undoubtedly, it had two hands and two feet, a humanoid form, but it had no head.

Truly headless. Where a human’s chest would be, among the folds of skin, occasionally, something resembling eyeballs turned outward. This shape and posture reminded her of Xingtian from ancient mythology. Where the head and neck should have been, there was a slightly concave flesh groove, filled with bloody pulp.

Shi Xiaohai’s head had just been attached there but had fallen off—perhaps it would pick the head up later, wrap the fur robe around itself, and again appear human-like as if wearing a human skin.

Meng Qianzi tried to struggle, using all her strength, but could only move her head slightly. She suddenly wanted to laugh: When learning martial arts in the past, her aunt had taught her, “If you’re truly cornered, even your head can be used as a weapon. Don’t fear the pain—it’s all about whose skull is harder.”

Her aunts surely never imagined she would one day encounter a headless creature that she couldn’t even headbutt.

She stopped struggling, conserving her strength. Suppressing her nausea, she looked at the narrow eyes among the creature’s wrinkled skin folds: “What are you? Another water ghost transformation?”

The smell of this creature was extremely similar to the mantis people. She remembered the fifth “person” they could never find at the Three Rivers Source.

No answer. Of course, without a head, it couldn’t speak like a human.

She turned her foot slightly. There were golden bells on her ankle.

Generally, when mountain ghosts encountered mountain beasts, they fell into two categories: those that would harm even mountain ghosts—these needed to be “repelled”; and those that viewed mountain ghosts as kin or friends—these could be “stirred” or “subdued.” Thus, “repel + stir + subdue” together were sufficient to handle all dangerous mountain beasts. In the mountain intestines, it seemed no mountain beast had allowed her to “stir” them, but she still had to try. What if it worked?

Her arms couldn’t move, but fortunately, her arms still had hands, and her hands had fingers.

With both hands ready, her chances of survival would increase. She secretly tried to hook the flamethrower hanging at her waist with her fingers. Once, twice, always missing by just a bit, never quite reaching it.

She wanted to distract the creature’s attention, so she continued talking to it. Even if it couldn’t speak, it should understand. Perhaps, like the mantis people, it might write some characters for her.

“If you’re a water ghost, what’s your surname? Ding, Jiang, or Yi? Do you remember?”

Still no answer. Moreover, something began to extend and writhe from under its armpits.

Meng Qianzi vaguely recalled that the bull-headed man had a pair of small arms growing on its neck, like a scarf. Did this… Xingtian creatures have something similar?

Soon, she saw clearly. They weren’t arms but rather two flesh-like tongues with serrated edges. When these flesh-tongues straightened and tensed, they resembled saw blades.

It brought one of these saw-like appendages toward her head.

Holy shit.

Meng Qianzi’s mind exploded with panic: Was this how Shi Xiaohai’s head had been sawed off? Did this Xingtian creature, lacking a head itself, covet every human head?

Despite the cold weather, her undergarments were soaked with cold sweat. Meng Qianzi twisted her body desperately, repeatedly trying to grab the flamethrower. Twice, the edge of her fingernail scraped the curved surface of the flamethrower, but she still couldn’t grasp it.

The serrated edge of the flesh-tongue had reached her neck. Meng Qianzi felt her skin being cut and a sharp pain. She tried to turn her head to the other side, but the flesh-tongue could curl, already wrapping around her neck. She could imagine that with one forceful tightening, twisting, and pulling, her head would be wrenched from her neck…

Meng Qianzi breathed rapidly, reaching even more desperately. In her panic, she tried everything—spitting a mouthful of saliva at one of the Xingtian creature’s eyes. It merely blinked quickly, covered in her saliva, then opened again…

Just then, Meng Qianzi heard an “oh-oh” sound.

That sound, why did it seem familiar…

Before she could react, a grayish-brown snow pheasant with a luminescent ring attached to one part of its body—appearing from who knows where—flew headlong into the Xingtian creature’s chest. Its wings flapped incessantly, as if slapping the creature with both hands.

The snow pheasant’s force was utterly negligible, but having such a furry thing flapping chaotically was annoying nonetheless. The Xingtian creature raised one hand and swatted the snow pheasant away. The bird spun through the air, shedding feathers as it tumbled…

Almost simultaneously, Meng Qianzi noticed the restraint on her arms loosening. With all her strength, she grabbed the flamethrower, raised the nozzle toward the Xingtian creature’s chest and abdomen—or what would be its mouth and eyes—and sprayed.

What came from the flamethrower wasn’t fire but burning liquid fuel at nearly one thousand degrees Celsius, designed for high-temperature carbonization. The Xingtian creature made a strange grunting sound and rolled away. Meng Qianzi quickly rolled in the opposite direction—if the fire caught on her, she might not die but would be severely injured.

After rolling several meters, she got up, holding the flamethrower.

The Xingtian creature was no longer visible. The passage contained only a ball of frenzied, bouncing flames. Shi Xiaohai’s head, which had rolled to the side, was now also engulfed in bright flames as the fire swept over it. The snow pheasant that had been swatted away and lay dazed against the rock wall, suddenly seeing stray droplets of burning oil falling from midair, was so frightened that it fluttered its feathers and ran away as if on wheels of fire.

Meng Qianzi considered giving the Xingtian creature another spray but decided against it to conserve fuel.

The carbonization happened quickly. Soon, the Xingtian creature stopped moving, and the flames subsided, gradually diminishing.

Meng Qianzi touched her neck. It was covered in blood, but fortunately, the wounds weren’t deep and hadn’t cut any vital parts.

She grabbed her mountain ghost basket, took out antiseptic cotton pads and bandages, and dressed her wounds. By the time she finished, the fire had completely gone out. Black oil particles floated in the air, and the passage reeked of a foul smell.

The snow pheasant limped over. Meng Qianzi looked down and saw a broken rope noose around its neck.

She understood now. This was one of the two snow pheasants she had released into the mountain intestines. One had encountered stone insects and fled the intestinal exit as a bloody mess, while the other, Huang Song, had only pulled out a broken rope, so everyone assumed it had died inside.

Thinking about it now, the entrance this pheasant had used probably had fewer stone insects. It encountered something else, and although the rope was bitten through, its small size and quick speed allowed it to escape.

How interesting that the world worked this way—the one who came to her rescue was the one she had sent in.

Meng Qianzi looked at it for a while and said, “So you didn’t die.”

She took an energy bar from her mountain ghost basket, tore it open, and crumbled some on the ground. The snow pheasant looked at her, scratched at the ground with its claws, then lowered its head and began pecking at the food.

The passage was extremely quiet. The smell of burning gradually dissipated. Meng Qianzi watched it eat and reached out to stroke its head.

Its head bobbed up and down, showcasing the vigorous vitality in its small body. Its feathers were soft, its body warm.

After a while, Meng Qianzi wearily rose to search for Shi Xiaohai’s body.

After searching through two passages, she found it—headless, lying quietly. The cut at the neck was very clean, and the blood that had flowed out had coagulated, a dark red color. From a certain angle, it looked like a flattened, strangely shaped head was attached to the neck.

Meng Qianzi suddenly began to cry.

She had watched over him the entire way, stopping just short of squatting beside him when he needed to relieve himself. Yet she still couldn’t protect him.

Earlier, when He Shengzhi had reported on Shi Xiaohai’s condition, he had mentioned the doctor’s diagnosis: “Not severe brain damage, hope for recovery.” At the time, she had said that was good news and that they should choose the best hospital, the best doctors, regardless of cost.

Now, there was no hope for recovery.

…

Meng Qianzi returned to her original position and wrote several more lines on the rock wall. She transcribed all the information from the cowhide fragments, along with her conjectures.

The exit likely depended on the door that had not yet appeared. She hoped Fourth Mother, Seventh Mother, and the others would soon find their way here, see her notes, and stop wandering like headless flies through the chaotic mountain intestines.

After finishing, she sat at the edge of the passage’s truncated end, peeled open an energy bar for herself, and ate. The snow pheasant kept watch nearby, coming over to peck whenever crumbs fell.

When she finished eating, neither she nor the snow pheasant moved. Meng Qianzi explained to it: “Door within door—perhaps one must be inside this door to see the other door. What do you think it will look like? A stone door or a wooden door?”

As she spoke, she grew drowsy.

She clutched her gun, struggling not to doze off. Sometimes she pinched her brow, her hand. Sometimes she would suddenly nod off, but would wake up after a few seconds at most.

During her final doze, she had a dream.

She dreamed she was wrapped in a fur robe, walking unhurriedly forward. Ahead were Jiang Lian, Shen Gun, Fourth Mother, and Seventh Mother.

They were all worried about her, asking, “Are you alright?”

She smiled eerily. The severed area at the back of her neck had rolled-back skin and flesh, bleeding, yet she said, “I’m fine.”

…

The snow pheasant suddenly began to “oh-oh,” startling Meng Qianzi awake.

Thankfully, the passage remained quiet.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead and turned to look into the bottomless pit. Where her gaze fell, her heart suddenly began to race uncontrollably.

At the bottom of the pit, about several dozen meters deep on the rock wall, a bright projection of sunlight had appeared. Roughly estimated, it was over two meters wide and four to five meters high, resembling a large door in shape.

That wasn’t all—there was also a line of scattered light spots, leading sporadically to that door.

Outside… had dawn broken?

But this was deep within the mountain. Sunlight couldn’t penetrate this far. Unless it was a miracle, there must be an extremely precise system of reflection and refraction set up to guide the first rays of dawn light inside.

Meng Qianzi stood up.

Tao Tian wrung out the hot towel and folded it carefully, gently wiping Jiang Lian’s face and neck.

He slept well. In the entire camp, perhaps only Jiang Lian could sleep so soundly.

Tao Tian sighed.

Because they were close by, they had set out immediately after receiving Seventh Aunt’s call, arriving in the early hours of the morning as part of the first rescue team.

Yet it was useless. The leadership was absent: all the Aunts, Miss Meng, had disappeared into those two eerie entrances halfway up the mountain. Currently, the highest-ranking person in the entire camp was Shen Gun, as he was Miss Meng’s Three-Petaled Lotus.

They couldn’t possibly take orders from Shen Gun.

And that man called Huang Song on the mountainside had sent word that he knew nothing about the situation inside the cave. He had also lost contact with Miss Meng and Seventh Aunt, who went in later. He advised everyone to wait and observe rather than rushing in recklessly.

This was truly maddening. How could rescue personnel just stand by and wait?

Tao Tian carried the folding basin outside to empty the water and saw Shen Gun sitting by the tent.

She really couldn’t understand this Shen Gun. He had reportedly requested to be bound. Originally tied with his hands behind his back, it was too inconvenient, so he was now bound in his current manner, as if wearing shackles: able to walk, but only with small steps; able to use his hands, but with a rope connecting them, preventing them from separating more than fifteen centimeters.

Shen Gun was intently studying a piece of paper, reading it silently.

Honestly, how long did it take to read just one sheet of paper?

After emptying the water, curious, Tao Tian went over to look.

Quickly, she matched what Shen Gun was reciting with what was written on the paper.

“At the time of crystallization, flying without wings, facing without a face…”

Tao Tian didn’t understand and knew she shouldn’t inquire about the content, but she couldn’t help asking: “Why are you reading it out loud?”

Shen Gun gave her a dissatisfied look: “You don’t understand. This helps with thinking.”

Tao Tian didn’t dare contradict him and continued listening to his recitation.

“…Mountain ghost knocks at the door, its cave appears by itself. Descend nine steps, sacrifice the phoenix feather, burn the dragon bone, and see the heavenly ladder. Where the shadow of the heavenly ladder ends is the fishing platform…”

Tao Tian was completely bewildered and couldn’t resist asking: “Have you memorized it? That’s not even written there.”

Shen Gun replied irritably: “This is what I wrote.”

Tao Tian made an “oh” sound and muttered: “You wrote it, you’ve memorized it, yet you keep staring at it endlessly… You are truly strange.”

With that, she walked away with the empty basin.

After she had gone several steps, Shen Gun shuddered as if waking from a dream. He picked up the paper, examined it repeatedly, then suddenly pulled his hand back as if burned, letting the paper fall to the ground.

This time, he clearly remembered what he had said.

—This is what I wrote.

How could he have written it? Wasn’t this… dictated by Ancestor Kuang? Master Ge had clearly stated that his ancestors… were surnamed Peng.