Shen Gun was sleeping in a daze when Jiang Lian dragged him out of his sleeping bag.

After hearing Jiang Lian’s words, he was stunned. Once the shock wore off, he slapped his thigh: “That’s right!”

They hadn’t thought of it—there was still an “entrance” there.

Regarding this entrance, they had encountered it intermittently several times before.

The earliest was Duan Wenxi. She was very persistent and had once revealed that “burning the dragon bone can illuminate the afterlife”—for her, the entrance was a passage to the afterlife.

Then there was Master Ba Mei’s interpretation. He said “it can help you hear the reluctant voices of those lingering at the entrance,” which led them to think of the Sheng family’s bells. The bell sounds allowed people to hear the unwilling voices of the deceased—here, the entrance was the divide between the living and dead, the harbor between life and death.

After that, in Wubai Nong Village, when Meng Qianzi pressed Yan Luo about whether he truly saw the afterlife when the dragon bone was lit, Yan Luo wrote, “I don’t know, I only know it’s an entrance”—for Yan Luo, it was simply a mysterious entrance.

Then, in Shen Gun’s dream, he witnessed the Yellow Emperor’s clan counting the boxes and heard someone chanting “one volume of Mountain Classics, one volume of Sea Classics, one volume of Great Wilderness Classics.” He speculated that Mountains and Seas corresponded to geography, while the Great Wilderness corresponded to astronomy—the vast universe beyond the six directions. When the connection between earth and heaven was severed, the only remaining passage was the Kunlun Celestial Ladder—from this, he concluded that the celestial ladder was the entrance to the Great Wilderness.

That’s why, after seeing Master Ge Da’s verdict, “broken line, departed branch enters the great wilderness,” he immediately thought of the mantis man’s words, “the celestial ladder, you will die there.” In a sense, these two sentences conveyed the same meaning.

Therefore, his advice to Gao Jinghong was to keep Meng Qianzi as far away from Kunlun as possible, never to return again.

Thinking of this, a chill ran through his heart, and he unconsciously glanced at Meng Qianzi beside him.

Meng Qianzi asked curiously: “Why are you looking at me? I know this entrance is probably the celestial ladder. I’ll avoid it and never go near it.”

Jiang Lian caught on: “Actually, there’s a reason why Shen Gun and I never thought of the entrance. Simply put, the entrance is where souls go. When a person dies, their body decays and their soul disappears—or as we’d say today, disappears into the depths of the vast universe. The Chi You faction went to great lengths to find the water spirit precisely to preserve consciousness and prevent the soul from dissipating, right? So for them, this ‘entrance’ inside the mountain cavity was the most terrifying place. Once you entered, everything was truly over.”

The dragon bone and box burning being arranged at this location made sense. What was called complete incineration might essentially be a grand sacrifice.

Meng Qianzi murmured, “If it’s the most terrifying place, weren’t the Chi You people afraid while working on the project inside?”

Jiang Lian smiled: “We stayed on that stone platform and knew the celestial ladder was there. Were you afraid then?”

Meng Qianzi shrugged: “Who would be afraid? We couldn’t even see it.”

Shen Gun offered his opinion: “That’s why in ancient legends, the celestial ladder was a bridge connecting to the beyond. Later, when heaven and earth were separated, most were gradually destroyed, leaving only the one in Kunlun, which was sealed. What’s there to fear about a locked celestial ladder? Nothing from beyond can come in, and nothing from the human realm can go out. Only souls pass through, never to return. No matter how much they yearn for the mortal world, they can only linger at the entrance of the celestial ladder.”

No wonder they never thought of this “entrance”—subconsciously, they never considered it a place where living people could go.

As Meng Qianzi listened, her heart suddenly raced, and she blurted out: “One of the nine uses of our mountain ghosts’ golden bell is to activate the celestial ladder.”

Shen Gun wasn’t surprised at all: “I’ve said all along that mountain ghosts aren’t simply connected to mountains through the same veins and breath. You are likely the key people with the ability to open the celestial ladder.”

Something stirred in Jiang Lian’s mind: “Wait a moment.”

He organized his thoughts: “So up until now, there have been two ways to activate the celestial ladder: one is to sacrifice the phoenix feather and burn the dragon bone, and the other is the mountain ghosts’ activation of the celestial ladder?”

It seemed that way. Shen Gun hesitantly nodded.

This was exactly what Jiang Lian was waiting for: “Good, then we know that at that time, there was only the dragon bone in the mountain cavity, not the phoenix feather—definitely not. The phoenix feather has its seven-colored halo. If Peng Yi had been hiding one, it would have been noticed long ago.”

“That means he could only enter by activating the celestial ladder. But activating the celestial ladder is a skill only mountain ghosts possess… Peng Yi wasn’t a mountain ghost.”

After finishing, he felt he had been too absolute: “He shouldn’t… be a mountain ghost, right?”

Shen Gun couldn’t say for certain: “He shouldn’t be. He belonged to the Peng clan, a relative of Peng Zu.”

None of those unofficial histories, official records, or various legends had ever mentioned any connection between Peng Zu’s lineage and mountain ghosts.

To their surprise, Meng Qianzi seemed thoughtful and suddenly interjected: “I think he was.”

After a pause, she added: “Not that he was, but the person he was impersonating was.”

The person he was impersonating… that chess piece.

Shen Gun found it unbelievable: there was very little information about that person. Even in the messages Peng Yi left behind, there were only a few passing mentions. What basis did Meng Qianzi have for saying that person was a mountain ghost?

Jiang Lian was also curious.

Meng Qianzi glanced at both of them. She felt that her intelligence and theirs were probably inversely proportional: when they were being smart, she could only stare and listen; but when she was being smart, these two… were truly thick as bricks.

She said, “It’s simple. Because among so many people in the mountain cavity, after the stone locusts were delivered, they only let Peng Yi raise them. The Chi You faction didn’t know he was Peng Yi; they thought he was that chess piece. The fact that they so naturally entrusted the stone locusts to him for raising indicates he had that ability. Stone locusts are mountain beasts—who can deal with mountain beasts? Mountain ghosts, of course.”

Jiang Lian drew in a sharp breath.

It was true. After the stone locusts were delivered, Peng Yi raised them. He had even thought earlier how fortunate it was that they were entrusted to Peng Yi; otherwise, planning Kuang Zu’s perfect disappearing act would have been quite difficult.

So, even from such a small detail as “raising stone locusts,” subtle information could be deduced.

Shen Gun stammered: “Then… then I… the stone locusts avoiding me… wasn’t because Peng Yi had raised them? But because Peng Yi was a mountain ghost? No, because that chess piece was a mountain ghost?”

His tongue seemed to be getting tied.

Meng Qianzi said, “The ancient mountain ghosts’ abilities were stronger than those of us who are thousands of generations removed. To activate the celestial ladder, he either needed a golden bell or had to know blood symbol writing.”

“We know he didn’t have a golden bell. The symbol technique corresponding to ‘activating the celestial ladder’ is now lost, but it wasn’t back then. He had accessed that chess piece’s knowledge, so he knew the symbol technique. He just needed to have mountain ghost blood flowing within him.”

“Peng Yi was transformed with clay to look like that chess piece, not simply disguised. His transformation was so powerful that even the appearance passed down to his descendants wasn’t his original one.”

Following her train of thought, Jiang Lian asked: “So the transformed Peng Yi had mountain ghost blood in him?”

Meng Qianzi nodded: “Not necessarily a lot, but some. That chess piece was a mountain ghost. If Peng Yi wanted to impersonate him, then he had to be able to do everything a mountain ghost could do. Without the mountain ghost bloodline, he couldn’t possibly handle tasks like controlling or repelling mountain beasts.”

“Besides, I don’t think the Chi You faction would recognize someone just by their face. People can look similar—maybe it was just a coincidence they looked alike?”

At this point, she looked at Shen Gun: “But after so many years, when the person inside Yan Luo saw you, he smiled eerily. The mantis men who kidnapped you at the Three Rivers Source didn’t even ask who you were—they just grabbed you and left. This shows they were certain you were the person they knew. Additionally, they had never seen Kuang Meiying, yet they didn’t kill her, just took her as well, indicating they recognized her as a member of the Kuang family. How did they recognize people?”

Exactly. When catching Kuang Meiying, they weren’t going by her face.

Jiang Lian’s thoughts shifted: “By… blood?”

In that era, blood seemed to be a specific kind of code. The Kuang family opened the box with blood, water ghosts emphasized blood purity, the Sheng family spoke of blood fusion, and mountain ghost techniques required mountain ghost blood to operate.

It seemed that when Peng Yi was transformed with clay, the blood of that chess piece was indeed incorporated. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to use mountain ghost skills. If people asked him to raise stone locusts and he was instead chased and bitten by them, wouldn’t that expose him?

With this, the inference that Peng Yi took the box into the celestial ladder could stand. Now they just needed to find some actual evidence.

Jiang Lian tried to imagine: “Peng Yi was fearless anyway. He could pretend to go mad, create chaos, take or snatch the box, and switch it with a fake when no one was paying attention. He could activate the celestial ladder in front of everyone, then carry the fake box in. No one would chase after him; they would just watch—maybe his actions would be puzzling, but at least no one would suspect he was a spy sent by the Yellow Emperor faction, because he had entered the vast Great Wilderness beyond the six directions, with no more connection to this world. With the box gone into the entrance, the project would only be safer.”

“So Peng Yi’s plan was secure, until he was exposed decades ago.”

Meng Qianzi was startled: “He was exposed?”

Jiang Lian smiled: “He must have been. Don’t you remember? In western Hunan, those flying insects that formed a flesh tongue only attacked Shen Gun. At the Phoenix Eye, the giant crocodile went berserk even before seeing Shen Gun, just sensing him through the bronze cover. The person inside Yan Luo looked at him and smiled strangely. And when we reached the Three Rivers Source, he was kidnapped by the mantis men. If not for being exposed, what else could it be?”

Meng Qianzi, who had been sharp for a moment, found her mind going blank again: “How… was he exposed?”

Shen Gun beside her let out a long sigh: “It was because of that one unexpected factor—Yan Luo.”

The box that should have disappeared from this world appeared and was brought into the mountain’s intestine. Even the most foolish person would guess that Peng Yi’s unusual behavior back then was an elaborate setup.

At the Three Rivers Source, those strange people transformed from water ghosts and brutally killed others, but only took away Shen Gun and Kuang Meiying. Perhaps they had detected something in the box and wanted to try opening it again.

But knowing this was too late. After all this time, the original arrangements had already taken shape. Even if they wanted to do something, they lacked the power. They could only wait—wait for the arrival of the first batch of water ghosts and the success of the first round of transformation.

The journey the next day went smoothly. By dusk, they successfully reached their previous camp. However, the weather was good today with no fog, so seeing the mountain mirage was probably hopeless.

Originally, Jiang Lian had hoped Meng Qianzi would stay at the camp, but she refused: “It’s half a day’s journey from the camp to the entrance of the mountain intestine. Why don’t you just tell me to stay in Xining?”

Jiang Lian thought to himself: I’d prefer you to stay, but you’ve already come, haven’t you?

The final agreement was that she could wait outside the entrance, but couldn’t go in.

However, whether this would work depended on her self-discipline—after all, no one staying outside could restrain her.

Thinking that they would burn the box the next day and all things would come to an end, Meng Qianzi felt a sense of unreality. During dinner, she kept questioning Shen Gun.

“The cave spirit had already relayed the message back. Would they make any preparations?”

Shen Gun said, “They already have. Haven’t they been pursuing and blocking us since the Three Rivers Source? Count how many people have died. Snow people, stone locusts, ice blood tubes… Don’t you think these defenses are bloody and intense enough? Do you think they’ve been restrained and reserved in dealing with us?”

True enough. Meng Qianzi had another curious thought: “Could the Shifting Cave have moved away?”

Shen Gun thought for a moment: “It should still be there. The Shifting Cave’s movements have patterns and trajectories. It usually drifts externally for a long time and then rests for a long time as well. Didn’t the water ghosts enter the cave in the Three Rivers Source last year? The incident a few days ago, when Little Lian lost his soul, proves the Shifting Cave has returned. Calculating from that, it hasn’t been back for long, so we can be pretty certain it’s still there.”

“So when you go in, you’ll first take out the mountain gall, then light the phoenix feather, and just burn it like that?”

Shen Gun pushed his glasses: “I suppose so. In the messages Peng Yi left behind, he didn’t mention any special tricks needed for burning.”

Meng Qianzi mumbled: “That seems pretty simple. I don’t see why I can’t go.”

Jiang Lian frowned: “Qianzi…”

“Can I watch from a hundred meters away? This kind of event happens once in eight lifetimes, and I can’t even see it? I’ve contributed quite a bit to this dragon bone burning box affair. How about a hundred and fifty meters?”

Her eyes sparkled as she looked alternately at Shen Gun and Jiang Lian, her gaze full of eager alliance-seeking.

No one paid attention to her.

Meng Qianzi let out a long sigh.

A grand event, and she couldn’t witness it—truly a lifetime regret.

With no entertainment in the wilderness, people generally washed up after dinner, chatted idly for a while, and then retired to bed.

Jiang Lian returned after washing up to find Meng Qianzi sitting alone in the tent, lost in thought.

He went straight to her and crouched in front of her: “What’s with this expression? You look a bit sorrowful, not like someone about to be completely liberated.”

Meng Qianzi burst out laughing and moved aside to make room for him to sit.

Jiang Lian sat down and inadvertently glanced around, something catching his attention. He softly uttered: “Hmm.”

Meng Qianzi was curious: “What is it?”

Jiang Lian lowered his voice: “Have you noticed that none of the mountain dwellers are looking this way? After I sat down, those who were facing this direction all turned their faces away.”

Meng Qianzi responded noncommittally: “Now you know how meticulous Jinsong is in handling matters.”

So it was Meng Jinsong who had instructed them. That was truly thorough, more than just meticulous.

Jiang Lian glanced at Meng Jinsong standing not far away. He was smoking, and somehow, the entire person had become as silent as the cigarette he was smoking.

Jiang Lian turned his gaze back and asked Meng Qianzi: “What were you worrying about just now?”

With that single question, Meng Qianzi was pulled back into her earlier melancholy.

“I was thinking, once this is over, all those long and tedious funeral ceremonies will be relatively easy to handle. But how do I tell Zong Hang about this?”

She had found the source of the water ghost disaster, but couldn’t provide a remedy. It was like watching a heavy rain collapse houses, unable to save even a single tile, only able to watch houses fall one by one, waiting for the rain to stop, for the sky to clear, waiting to clean up the ruins.

Jiang Lian was silent for a moment: “Is it hard to bring up?”

Meng Qianzi smiled faintly: “I’ve never liked bringing bad news to people since I was young. Because when you do, whether you want to or not, you become part of that bad news. Even many years later, when they see you, the first thing they associate with you is that bad news you brought, along with all the related pain, collapse, and despair.”

Jiang Lian held one of her hands and pulled it into his embrace: “When it’s over, I’ll go with you to tell him. He’s a sensible person who understands everything. Maybe, not wanting to put you in a difficult position, he’ll even comfort you with a smile and say it’s nothing.”

Meng Qianzi’s eyes reddened at his words.

Jiang Lian said: “Actually, the most effective comfort comes from a helpless person comforting one who’s lost a finger, or a fully paralyzed person comforting someone who’s lost their legs. No words needed—just being there creates the effect. Some people never meet true love in their entire lives, and others meet it but never have the chance to stay together. Yi Sa can still accompany Zong Hang for five years… or is it seven? Breaking each day into fine moments to live fully, the happiness gained may not be less than what others have in a lifetime.”

“Take me, for example, Qianzi. Being with you, I’m extremely satisfied. Even if I were only given one more day, I would still feel happy…”

What kind of outrageous nonsense was this? Meng Qianzi angrily pulled her hand away and spat three times in succession, almost spraying saliva on Jiang Lian’s face: “What nonsense are you talking?”

Jiang Lian defended himself: “I was just making a comparison.”

“That’s not acceptable either! What do you mean by ‘one day’? There’s so much to do, many things! Wait a moment!”

Her leg wasn’t convenient, so she leaned her upper body into the tent and rummaged through her backpack.

Then she pulled out a pen and a notebook.

Mountain ghosts inherited more traditions than ordinary people. The older aunts, especially, had some near-obsessive old customs.

Elder Sister had taught her: “Anzi, when you’re away from home, traveling by boat or horse is somewhat risky. To ensure a safe journey, you need to carry some thoughts from home. The more people and things that miss you, the more heaven knows and will ensure your safe return.”

For instance, when leaving, don’t put everything in perfect order at home. You can leave pot lids askew, so they remember you coming back to cover them. You can casually throw a couple of clothes on the sofa, so the clothes hope for your return to pick them up, and the sofa looks forward to you coming back to tidy it.

When leaving, leave some unfinished business. You’ll be thinking of it, and it’ll be waiting for you. With this mutual remembrance, you’ll naturally return as wished.

She tossed the notebook and pen to Jiang Lian: “One day—can we finish everything we need to do in one day? Start writing, number them from the beginning. Think about how many things we still have to do.”

Jiang Lian obediently held the pen. The first image that flashed in his mind was of the little white monkey in the hanging gall peaks forest in western Hunan.

“We have to return to western Hunan to see that little white monkey, right? And give it a nice-sounding name.”

Meng Qianzi pursed her lips angrily, gesturing at the paper: “Then write it down.”

Jiang Lian began writing and suggested, “Magpie Bridge has already taken my surname. Why don’t we let this one take yours? A monkey that’s so vain it does face masks—why not call it Meng Xiaomei (Little Beauty Meng)?”

But mentioning Magpie Bridge brought up a second item: “I need to find a rich and handsome guy for Magpie Bridge. Then take a wedding photo and send it to Cao Jiefang to make him furious. ‘The bridge you ignored yesterday, you can’t reach today.'”

Meng Qianzi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Fine, anything would do.

The third item.

Jiang Lian paused again while writing and turned to look at Meng Qianzi: “Qianzi, come back home with me to see where I grew up.”

“Kuang Tongsheng’s place?”

Jiang Lian nodded: “I’ll show you my homework, the wood carvings I made when playing alone, and the kites. Did you know the smallest kite is called ‘Star in Palm’? It can nestle in the palm of your hand. I’m especially good at flying them. I’ve always thought that when pursuing a girlfriend, I’d fly a luminous Star in Palm for her. This way, even if there are no stars in the sky, I can make one rise for her, then slowly bring it down for her. This is my ultimate move. Don’t you think with something so romantic, what kind of girl couldn’t I win over?”

After saying this, he sighed: “What a pity. All these years, I never chose anyone, wasting all that practice in kite-flying skills. The ‘Star in Palm’ at my home must be covered in a thick layer of dust by now.”

Meng Qianzi couldn’t help but laugh, leaning her body against Jiang Lian’s arm: “Alright, after the great-grandmother’s funeral, we’ll go to your home. You can fly kites for me. Keep writing—we should reach at least a hundred.”

…

They wrote until the night was quiet and people were tired, yet they had only reached sixty-nine items. Writing each one required discussion, opinions, and laughter.

They hadn’t finished the list, but they could continue slowly in the future. There was plenty of time. Meng Qianzi folded the page filled with writing and tucked it into Jiang Lian’s inner pocket: he needed this more. He needed to know at all times that he still had many things to do. Who told him to be so hopeless as to say “one day”?

Jiang Lian watched Meng Qianzi get into her sleeping bag and helped adjust her inflatable pillow before preparing to get up and open the tent flap to leave.

Meng Qianzi said, “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

Right, such an important matter—he had forgotten it. Jiang Lian smiled and bent down. Meng Qianzi stretched out her arms, encircling his neck, giggling softly. As she continued to laugh, the sound faded away.

It was replaced with silent, gentle intimacy.

After who knows how long, when Jiang Lian rose, he felt a slight weight on his waist—she was holding him down with her hand.

Jiang Lian smiled and leaned toward her ear, his warm breath exploring her ear shell, tickling her until she tried to dodge: “Qianzi, if you keep this up, I won’t leave. I’ll risk losing face and won’t care that this tent doesn’t have good soundproofing.”

Meng Qianzi kept laughing, her eyes bright with moisture. That brightness touched her eyebrows and then settled on her rosy lips.

She said, “You have things to do tomorrow. Get some rest early.”

She sat up and watched Jiang Lian leave. Jiang Lian helped her zip up the tent flap from outside. The two flaps of the door came together, about to close on Jiang Lian’s face.

Meng Qianzi suddenly called to him: “Jiang Lian?”

Jiang Lian’s hand paused. He could only see her through the small gap in the unzipped tent, just as when she had first caught up with them and peered at Jiang Lian through that small space.

Meng Qianzi said, “Remember, you have so many things to do with me. Once the box is burned, come find me quickly.”

Jiang Lian smiled. At any time, he had eyes that were gentle and smiling.

He said, “Of course, I’ll find you. If not you, who else would I look for?”

With that, he left, forgetting to close the tent flap completely.

Meng Qianzi sat up, preparing to close it herself. Just as she approached, Jiang Lian’s eyes appeared again.

He said: “Back then, my mother told me to run as fast as I could, not to look back for even a moment. She also said that one day, I would meet someone worthy and live the best life.”

“Qianzi, if I had known then that I would meet you ahead, I would have run faster. That way, we would have known each other longer than we do now.”

He closed the tent flap.

Meng Qianzi sat in the tent, just smiling.

Outside, it was extremely quiet. Even the mountain wind was gentle. Beyond the tent, in places her vision couldn’t penetrate, stood silently the mountain peak they would visit tomorrow.

She didn’t know why, but later, as she continued to smile, she began to cry.