In the year Shen Gun turned ninety-four, he made his final journey to Kunlun Mountain.

He didn’t ask anyone to accompany him. Like in his early years, he set out alone. Unlike his early years, he no longer carried a burlap sack because he couldn’t bear the weight; instead, he added a walking stick, as his two legs alone had indeed become somewhat inadequate.

Chatting with people along the way, everyone praised his good health and longevity.

Shen Gun would smile and say, “Old Master Pengzu and I are from the same clan, probably good genes.”

And then, he arrived at Kunlun.

Shen Gun had once thought Kunlun’s snow-capped peaks would disappear.

Fortunately, they hadn’t. Environmental protection efforts had succeeded. Forty years had passed, and though the outside world had undergone dramatic changes, Kunlun remained simply Kunlun, only with a slightly thicker snow cover.

Entering the mountain was beyond his capability. He called the Mountain Ghost contact person, leaving a message saying he needed to access the mountain passage.

The person who came was an elderly woman in her sixties, with kind eyes and a face full of smiles. Shen Gun didn’t recognize her until they exchanged names, when he finally realized and asked, “You’re Tao Tian, right?”

Tao Tian smiled, her eyes filled with deep and shallow wrinkles, and said to him, “Mr. Shen, your memory is excellent. Yes, it’s me. Years ago at the Three Rivers Source, we encountered danger together.”

A familiar face.

Shen Gun smiled with exceptional joy. At his age, there were few familiar faces left in the world.

They drove to the entrance of Caidan Ravine. At the entrance, mountain dwellers were already waiting. Instead of yaks, there were two mountain expedition vehicles. These vehicles had extendable climbing claws—they could travel on flat ground and “walk” on uneven terrain. Though they couldn’t completely replace walking and climbing, they reduced the effort by seventy to eighty percent.

For maximum mobility, each vehicle had only two seats. Shen Gun had long been unable to keep up with such new technologies and could only obediently follow Tao Tian’s instructions, clumsily adjusting the seat, straps, and airbags.

As the vehicle started, Tao Tian drove as smoothly as possible while briefing Shen Gun on the mountain passage: “We maintain that passage regularly. To prevent accidental entry, the entrance was sealed, but after receiving your message, I arranged for someone to open it in advance.”

Shen Gun made a sound of acknowledgment.

With the box burned and the mountain passage collapsed, when Meng Qianzi entered the mountain forty years ago, people were mobilized to use machinery, taking nearly two months to open the “door-left-hand-search” passage—that passage had become the only pathway in, maintained by mountain dwellers on the Kunlun side.

The journey continued in silence. Shen Gun watched the scenery outside the window. People are eager for change; places with human presence constantly change, while uninhabited areas remain almost unchanged. He could even recognize places where they had once camped and eaten, bringing tears to his eyes several times.

At one point, he tried to reach for something and touched a backpack. Tao Tian noticed from the corner of her eye and explained, “This is the Mountain Ghost basket. Nowadays, many tools are becoming more streamlined, and backpacks aren’t as heavy.”

Shen Gun opened it to look, but his hand slipped, and a colorful package fell out.

It contained mini-bags of various snacks. Shen Gun asked curiously, “Aren’t people just taking various nutritional powders these days? Still eating these?”

Tao Tian smiled sheepishly: “No, this isn’t standard issue, just my habit.”

After a pause, she added, “A long time ago, a friend told me that mountain journeys are already tough enough, and eating only energy bars is too boring. So I developed this habit of always carrying… something tasty in my backpack.”

They reached their destination the next morning.

As Shen Gun ascended the mountain, his mood remained calm. He even enjoyed the scenery along the way, but fell silent as they neared the entrance.

The passage had been excavated, blocking branching paths to other ice blood vessels. Self-illuminating lights had been installed along the way, though due to the high altitude, they weren’t very bright, casting a dim glow.

This dimness intensified the passage’s profound depth. Countless memories from the past, like dormant ghosts in the tunnel, gradually raised their heads.

Forty years ago, Meng Qianzi had entered the Great Wilderness from here.

Those closest to her came to see her off. Thinking back, the atmosphere was strange: no one knew if Meng Qianzi needed luggage, yet everyone competed to stuff things into her bag; everyone knew they were sending off a train that might never return, yet everyone pretended it was just an ordinary send-off.

Xin Ci applied makeup for Meng Qianzi one last time. The mountain was too cold, causing many bottles and jars of liquids and creams to congeal. Xin Ci kept them all warm against his chest, creating a clinking sound with each movement.

Meng Qianzi smiled and said, “Make me look pretty. Jiang Lian hasn’t seen me for two years.”

She then lowered her voice and told Xin Ci, “You should take the initiative.”

Xin Ci’s eyes had already reddened, but after her words, his face also turned red. He stammered, “These things don’t work with just my initiative.”

Kuang Meiying bought new seasonal clothes for Jiang Lian because “over there, who knows if he has anything to change into.” The clothes were neatly folded with a small wedding photo of her and Wei Biao placed on top.

Xian Qionghua helped Meng Qianzi organize her luggage bag, then came over to instruct her, “Sister Zi, when you get there, if possible, try to… send us some news.”

Meng Qianzi giggled and said, “Shen Gun says the Great Wilderness is beyond the sky, the universe. How could I send anything? I’ll visit you in dreams instead. From now on, all the good dreams you have about me are from me.”

She then seriously instructed everyone: “Since the Great Wilderness is beyond our world, likely in a different dimension, by the time I return with Jiang Lian, several decades might have passed here. If you have any major life events, make sure to leave word here so I can see them when I return and won’t miss anything.”

Her final words before activating the Celestial Ladder, pointing to the gold bell on her ankle, were addressed to Jing Rusi: “Fourth Mother, after I use it, please take the gold bell back and keep it for the next Mountain Ghost Throne holder.”

Tao Tian led Shen Gun into the dark passage.

Shen Gun asked her, “Is this place open often?”

Tao Tian thought for a moment: “Not really. In the first few years, people came frequently, but gradually it became less often, usually once every few years. Only Assistant Meng came every year, but he passed away three years ago.”

Shen Gun made a sound of acknowledgment: another person he knew was gone.

Opening the second door, they finally stepped onto the stone platform.

Reflexively, Shen Gun first looked up.

The several interlocking mountain passages were still there, appearing precarious yet stable. Without major landslides or earthquakes, they probably wouldn’t collapse again.

The stone platform was covered with glass enclosures, with wire mesh outside—protection against stone locusts, though few had been seen in many years.

Shen Gun took a few steps on the platform, then raised his head to look at the rock face.

The stone figures remained—Jiang Lian was there, and Meng Qianzi too.

Shen Gun said to Tao Tian, “You don’t need to accompany me. Let me stay here alone for a while.”

…

When Meng Qianzi entered the Great Wilderness, she used the gold bell.

Just like with Jiang Lian, a vertical black eye slowly opened on the rock face. At the moment the eye opened, the gold bell suddenly broke and fell to the ground.

Meng Qianzi was about to bend down to pick it up when Jing Rusi said, “Qianzi, leave it. I’ll collect it later and repair it.”

Meng Qianzi didn’t try to retrieve it again. She picked up her luggage bag and said, “It’s so heavy.”

She added, “I’m going now. Perhaps Jiang Lian never went far. I might meet him after just a few steps.”

She didn’t plunge straight in but smiled at everyone. Most of her worldly attachments were here, and she wanted to look a few moments longer.

Qu Qiao began to sob quietly. Xian Qionghua put an arm around her shoulders, comforting her softly. Kuang Meiying wept, tightly clutching Wei Biao’s hand. Meng Jinsong stood dazed, holding a rolled-up painting.

It was the portrait Jiang Lian had drawn of Meng Qianzi using the Divine Eye technique. Liu Guanguo couldn’t bear to burn it and kept it. When Meng Qianzi returned to Western Hunan, he had already heard about Jiang Lian and solemnly retrieved the painting to return to her.

Meng Qianzi treasured this painting. Before leaving, she gave it to Meng Jinsong as a memento.

…

Meng Qianzi kept looking until the entrance closed.

The gradually restoring stone surface traced down along her face. After the stone surface was restored, Qu Qiao cried out, “Look at them!”

On the stone surface remained the sculpted stone faces of the two. They appeared to have left together, with no indication of the two-year gap between them. Both were smiling, close together—one alive and one dead, a pair on the wall.

Later, when Jing Rusi went to collect the gold bell, she discovered that not only had it broken, but the bell plate with the symbol for “activating the Celestial Ladder” had cracked.

Of the Sheng family’s nine bells, burning one destroys all nine. At that time, Shen Gun suspected this damage might herald the permanent silence of the Subduing Beast Gold Bell.

He also recalled the words written by the Mantis Person:

“Celestial Ladder, be careful, you will die there.”

These words weren’t necessarily a curse on Meng Qianzi. The Mantis Person had simply recognized the gold bell: in “their” eyes, entering the Great Wilderness was a point of no return, equivalent to death. Perhaps the bell’s final use naturally required a sacrificial price from the spellcaster.

So, at the Celestial Ladder, be careful—once activated, you will “die” there.

…

Now, the stone platform was more like an altar or a message board.

As Meng Qianzi had hoped, many people’s major life events had been entrusted to her here.

Shen Gun saw a family photo of Kuang Meiying with her husband and child. The chubby little boy looked very much like Wei Biao. Beside it was a handmade thank-you card that read: “Thank you, Uncle Jiang Lian and Aunt Qianzi, for saving my mom and dad.”

Shen Gun found a photo album. Opening it, he saw pictures of Xin Ci and Qu Qiao together, one for each year, stopping after the sixth year.

In this world, some relationships last forever, others part midway—nothing unusual.

…

Shen Gun stood on the stone platform for a long time before leaving with his walking stick.

Tao Tian had gone off somewhere. A mountain dweller guarding the entrance wanted to come help support him, but Shen Gun waved him away, indicating he wanted to be alone.

He kept walking until he reached a secluded cliff edge, found a large stone, and sat down.

The sky was overcast. Amid the dense clouds, snow had begun to fall softly.

Shen Gun’s vision gradually blurred.

In a flash, forty years had passed.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he began to revere time.

Vast as heaven and earth may be, time is vaster still. Love cannot outlast it, nor can hatred endure it. It is the ever-burning fuel beneath the cauldron, reducing all those feelings of resentment, unwillingness, injustice, and indignation to mere wisps of smoke.

Shen Gun had truly dreamed many dreams about Meng Qianzi and Jiang Lian. In his dreams, they would laugh, play, whisper intimately, or simply walk away shoulder to shoulder—Shen Gun could never get close. Each time he tried, they would dissipate like reflections on water.

Had Meng Qianzi found Jiang Lian?

This question troubled Shen Gun deeply in the first few years. Later, as his friends gradually departed, more and more frequently, he came to terms with it.

The first was Yi Sa, who passed away nine years later.

Shen Gun wasn’t close with the couple of Yi Sa and Zong Hang; news came to him bit by bit through Xian Qionghua.

Reportedly, Yi Sa had given birth to a daughter whom Zong Hang named Zong Yisa, nicknamed “Nian Nian,” meaning “to remember always.”

This daughter looked very much like Yi Sa but had a completely different temperament. She was gentle and patient, understanding how to care for her father from a young age, reminding him to wear more clothes in winter, not to eat too much cold food in summer—like a naturally sensible little adult, giving Zong Hang much comfort.

By the time Nian Nian married, Zong Hang’s parents had already passed away. After that, Zong Hang disappeared from those around him; no one saw him again.

However, there was news that he had gone to Southeast Asia and established many small businesses in different waters. For instance, he bought a boat and rented it out to others, or he purchased many fishing nets that fishermen could use freely, paying only a small rent or exchanging their catch for usage fees. Zong Hang moved around, visiting different places to collect rent. When not collecting rent, he liked to stay by the water and raised a group of cormorants trained to catch fish.

Some said he smiled a lot.

Whether true or false, no one knew.

Then there were Luo Ren and the others.

Shen Gun’s earlier concerns had proven true. The five people who had once carried the malevolent talisman all suffered internal damage; none lived long. Wood Dai was the last of the five to pass away, but even that was more than ten years ago.

Shen Gun had seen Wood Dai in the year of her passing. That year, he went to pay respects to Luo Ren and the others. Wood Dai took him to the cemetery. Shen Gun remembered Wood Dai smiling as she looked at Luo Ren and the others’ memorial photos, her temples streaked with gray.

He also remembered Wood Dai telling him, “Recently in my dreams, I often see Luo Ren and the others, and also Liberation. I think I have only a year or two left.”

Shen Gun told her not to think too much and to take care of herself, promising to visit again the following year.

The next year, he did go, but Wood Dai was no longer there. There was one more grave, one more memorial photo. Another friend, gone.

Five years ago, the couple Yue Feng and Ji Tangtang passed away.

This pair died very close to each other. Ji Tangtang went first, and on the seventh day after her departure, Yue Feng passed away in his sleep, very peacefully.

Shen Gun had originally come to attend Ji Tangtang’s funeral. Before he could leave, he stayed for Yue Feng’s as well.

He was old now, and Yue’s family, fearing he would tire himself, wouldn’t let him help. Most of the time, he sat to the side, watching another funeral slowly take shape.

Yue Feng’s little grandson often squatted beside his feet to play. The little one was too young to understand death. While playing, he would tug at Shen Gun’s trouser leg and ask, “Where did Grandpa go?”

Shen Gun would pat his head and say, “He took his big SUV and went out to play.”

…

People say longevity is a blessing, but Shen Gun felt that the longer one lives, the lonelier one becomes. The experiences he had, the songs he loved, the people he knew—gradually, there was no one left to talk to about them. He could only keep them in his heart, fermenting slowly through days and nights, through wind and rain.

He missed his friends.

At the beginning, there was so much time, the future so long. Everyone clustered together like a tide, rolling into a great wave, a magnificent force, setting out together toward the embankment, laughing and chatting, so lively.

Gradually, some vanished in midair, some were pushed back by the embankment, and some were absorbed by sand and stones. The wave grew smaller, its force diminished.

He didn’t know if his luck was good or bad, always being the foremost droplet, traveling the farthest, leaving the longest trail, yet also the loneliest, quietly without company, drying up at the farthest tip.

…

The north wind grew stronger, and snowflakes flew chaotically in the gray air.

Had Meng Qianzi found Jiang Lian? Perhaps. Perhaps on the next bright day, the two would return together.

However, Shen Gun knew he wouldn’t live to see it.

Or perhaps they were still in the Great Wilderness.

What was the Great Wilderness? It was beyond the sky, the universe, the unknown. If, after death, all souls truly entered the Great Wilderness, then everyone would eventually meet there.

By then, how lively it would be, with so many he missed and thought of, all gathered together.

Shen Gun smiled into the solitude of the mountains, then slowly closed his eyes.

Snow quickly accumulated on his head and shoulders. His hand loosened, and the walking stick fell down the slope, bumping against rocks along the way. When it finally came to rest, it startled a snow pheasant foraging nearby.

Had Shen Gun been able to see, he would have noticed that this snow pheasant greatly resembled Jiang Qiaoqiao from forty years ago.

He didn’t know that for a time, Meng Qianzi had been enthusiastic about matchmaking for Jiang Qiaoqiao. Unfortunately, after several unsuccessful attempts, Meng Qianzi eventually laughed and gave up.

She said, “Forget it, I’ve made such a mess of myself, I won’t worry about this for you anymore. Qiaoqiao, you’ll have to meet and choose your match. Whether happy or regretful, it’s your life to live, just make the best of it.”

*The Mountain Ghost Chronicles* records: The last Mountain Ghost Throne holder, Meng Qianzi, was born in 1993, year of death unknown. Little Meng Mountain could never collect her remains. With the mountain having no companion, a cenotaph was erected in her place. It is said that in Kunlun Mountain, within its depths, there are stone carvings of her face, smiling gently, lifelike. Those with destiny may glimpse them.

Thus it is said:

Glory before, emptiness after, severed line and detached branch enter the Great Wilderness.

The mountain cannot make immortals of decaying cloth, stone figures smile as years wither away.