Two years later, in Western Hunan.

Shen Gun emerged from the airport exit and immediately spotted the two Shens waiting to pick him up.

Two years had passed, yet these two hadn’t changed much. Still the same—one tall, one short; one with a head growing bald, the other with a crown growing fuller; one holding a pickup sign, the other clutching a welcome bouquet.

Shen Gun suspected that Shen Wangu deliberately had Shen Bang hold the flowers—Shen Bang was small, with a small head, and the bouquet was enormous. Once Shen Bang clutched it, his head was barely visible.

The moment they spotted Shen Gun, they sprinted over. When they reached him, they burst into rapid chatter, barely giving Shen Gun a chance to speak.

Shen Wangu said, “Master Gun, you’re finally here! Miss Meng has been here for several days already.”

Shen Bang added, “My Brother Liu is also in Phoenix Ancient City. He mentions you three times a day, saying once you arrive, he’ll treat you to aged wine. Master Gun, what have you been busy with these past two years?”

Shen Gun hadn’t seen Meng Qianzi for two years.

Two years ago, when Jiang Lian entered the Celestial Ladder, Meng Qianzi, in her devastation, had attempted to open the ladder herself. But she had suffered too great a shock; she kept forgetting parts of Peng Yi’s procedure, remembering one step then forgetting two. She tried many times without success.

New wounds atop old ones, coupled with anxiety attacking her heart, caused her to vomit blood and collapse. Meng Jinsong, pale with fright, urgently transferred Meng Qianzi to Xining after leaving the mountain path.

By the time Shen Gun reached Xining to attend Duan Wenxi’s funeral, he heard that Meng Qianzi’s illness had struck so violently that she had been sent back to the Shangui Chamber.

As the Mountain Ghost Throne holder, she couldn’t even preside over Duan Wenxi’s funeral.

Afterward, Shen Gun returned to the mansion in Mist Town.

Xian Qionghua remained at Yunling Mountain, occasionally coming to visit him. Sometimes when they spoke of Meng Qianzi, Xian Qionghua would sigh and say, “Our Sister Zi used to care little about Mountain Ghost affairs, but now she’s become much more diligent. She reads financial reports and inspects properties everywhere. She’s so busy it’s quite difficult to even see her.”

She also said, “Being busy is good for her. It diverts her attention, so she won’t constantly think about Jiang Lian.”

Shen Gun didn’t respond and didn’t tell Xian Qionghua that Meng Qianzi called him every fortnight.

Each time, she asked him the same question:

“Shen Gun, have you remembered what happened beyond the Great Wilderness?”

She placed her hopes in Shen Gun, believing that since he possessed Peng Yi’s memories and the Divine Clan had written the “Great Wilderness Scripture,” perhaps Shen Gun could recall what existed beyond the Great Wilderness.

Unfortunately, Shen Gun could never remember. During one call, he told Meng Qianzi, “Miss Meng, I feel that though the Divine Clan advanced further than us in understanding nature and self, when it comes to the world beyond and the Great Wilderness, they weren’t much more advanced.”

Otherwise, why would those standing beside Peng Yi only dare to watch, not daring to approach when he entered the Celestial Ladder? This indicated they, too, had limited understanding of the Great Wilderness and were filled with fear.

Meng Qianzi remained silent for a while, then asked, “I’m also a ‘Phoenix.’ That day, if I had been on the stone platform, if I had lit the Phoenix Feather, would it have been me who entered the Great Wilderness?”

Shen Gun responded with difficulty.

That day, because of the prophecy, Meng Qianzi had been repeatedly instructed to “stay away from the Celestial Ladder.” If she had ascended the stone platform, it was hard to say who would have ignited the Phoenix Feather.

In Peng Yi’s conception, the Phoenix Feather should have been brought out from the water cave by a Peng descendant. This descendant would be the “Phoenix,” the sacrifice to be consumed by fire when the Dragon Bones burned. He probably never imagined that people often don’t struggle alone; they usually have friends by their side.

Meng Qianzi said, “Then I guess Grandmother Duan was also a ‘Phoenix.’ Initially, the Phoenix Feather on the altar was probably retrieved by her and later ignited by her. Even if Yama hadn’t killed her, she would have been taken by the entrance, right?”

Shen Gun remained silent. He had heard that Duan Wenxi died without resentment. She was already elderly by then, and her longing for the Great Wilderness and the “next life” had likely far surpassed her attachment to the mortal world.

…

What had he been busy with these past two years?

He had also been researching the “Great Wilderness,” but with too few materials, progress was minimal. However, in his midnight dreams, he often saw Jiang Lian’s stone statue in that desolate cave in the Kunlun Mountains.

The stone figure was always smiling, lips curved slightly, wrapped in loneliness.

The destination of this journey was Phoenix Ancient City. Traveling from Zhangjiajie, there was still a long way to go.

Shen Gun slept in the car.

When he awoke, they had entered the county town. Lights were coming on, revealing prosperity all around. The so-called ancient city was right in the county town, now a nationally famous tourist area, growing more lively as night fell.

Liu Guangguo waited at the entrance and first took Shen Gun to dinner. He chose a small riverside restaurant where they enjoyed the breeze while sampling clear river fish, blood rice duck, and hanging pot rice, meanwhile admiring the night view of Phoenix and the bustling tourists enjoying nocturnal Phoenix.

During the meal, he handed Shen Gun a VIP theater ticket: “Miss Meng said she’ll wait for you at the theater. Tonight she invites you to watch a performance.”

Shen Gun took it and looked.

Like “Impression Lijiang” and “Impression Jiuzhaigou,” it was a grand performance in the ancient city.

This show was called “Border Town,” adapted from the namesake work by the famous writer Shen Congwen.

The theater wasn’t far from the restaurant. After dinner, Shen Gun declined Liu Guangguo’s offer to accompany him and strolled there alone.

Unexpectedly, on that short stretch of road, he encountered familiar faces twice.

Once was Meng Jinsong, riding a night cruise boat. Shen Gun happened to pass by the shore and waved eagerly, but Meng Jinsong, looking depressed, didn’t notice him.

The second time was Xin Ci and Qu Qiao. As Shen Gun walked across the Wind and Rain Bridge, he saw them approaching. He wanted to greet them, but they were too preoccupied and didn’t see him.

Shen Gun decided not to disturb them. Since everyone was in Phoenix, they’d meet again soon enough.

The theater was large, reportedly able to seat one or two thousand people when full.

Shen Gun arrived first. His seat was in the front row, center.

More and more people arrived, gradually filling the venue. The clamor grew, yet the seat beside him remained empty. Fearing Meng Qianzi wouldn’t come, he kept glancing toward the entrance. Just before the show started, he finally saw a familiar figure.

She moved from the edge toward the middle, occasionally bowing her head to say “excuse me” to seated patrons. Shen Gun watched her draw closer, and suddenly his eyes stung. He quickly turned away.

Moments later, Meng Qianzi settled beside him. Shen Gun wanted to say something before the show began. After careful consideration, he asked the clichéd, “Miss Meng, have you been well?”

Meng Qianzi replied, “Grand Aunt passed away two months ago. Apart from that, everything is fine.”

Shen Gun fell silent, feeling his question had been inappropriate.

The venue darkened, and colored lights gradually rose on stage. At this moment, Meng Qianzi asked him, “Shen Gun, can you tell I’m lame?”

Shen Gun exclaimed, stammering, “H-h-how could that be? I-I can’t see anything.”

Meng Qianzi smiled. Stage lights swept across her, illuminating her brow and lips. She said, “Because during that period, I was injured repeatedly without proper care. But it’s fine. If I put a little effort into walking, others can’t tell. Let’s watch the show.”

So they watched the performance.

Shen Gun’s mind was in chaos, his attention wandering. He only knew this grand live show was about a girl named Cuicui.

The story was simple. Cuicui was a boatman’s daughter who lived with her grandfather, making a living by helping people cross the river.

The two sons of the town’s boat owner, elder brother Tianbao and younger brother Nuosong, both fell in love with her. Cuicui secretly loved Nuosong. The brothers competed fairly, trying to win her heart with love songs. Tianbao knew he couldn’t match his brother and left in dejection. While sailing, he accidentally drowned.

When news returned, Nuosong couldn’t overcome the guilt of his brother’s death. He, too, left, ostensibly to seek his fortune, never to return.

By the story’s end, Cuicui’s grandfather had passed away. Alone, she kept a boat and waited by the riverside day after day.

The show preserved this ending. In the final scene, many voices asked Cuicui, “Cuicui, are you still waiting?”

And Cuicui would answer, “Still waiting.”

…

Finally, the show ended.

The audience, some sighing, others excited, discussed the performance while gradually exiting. Meng Qianzi sat motionless, so Shen Gun remained still as well.

Eventually, the stage lights faded completely, leaving only silent scenery. The vast theater held only the two of them.

Shen Gun turned to look. A staff member wanted to enter and clear the venue but was stopped by someone who spoke a few words, so they temporarily abandoned the effort.

It was at this moment that Meng Qianzi spoke: “Shen Gun, I’ve decided to enter the Great Wilderness.”

Shen Gun didn’t speak. He wasn’t shocked; only a long sigh rolled through his heart. It seemed this moment had long been anticipated.

Meng Qianzi’s gaze rested on the empty stage. “Do you know that time when your friends visited the camp, Jiang Lian envied them so much. He sat at a distance, watching wistfully, like a child who couldn’t have candy.”

“I went over and asked him, and he stammered reluctantly that he envied you for having so many friends.”

“Jiang Lian didn’t have many friends. In some ways, he was quite a lonely person. He also said that someday he wanted to make many, many friends. That way, life would be lively.”

“As a child, he escaped desperately from that great mountain, never wronged anyone, was loyal, righteous, and responsible. I can’t bear the thought of him running and running, only to run into such a…”

She didn’t know how to describe that place.

The Great Wilderness—it always felt vast and desolate, immense and barren.

She had been in Western Hunan for some time. Before coming to Phoenix Ancient City, she visited Xuandan Peak Forest.

She wanted to see that little white monkey again.

Everything went smoothly. She didn’t even need to descend to the valley bottom. On the mountain stone platform where Grandmother Duan had left her letter, she encountered it.

The little white monkey no longer recognized her. It had grown up, its skeleton expanded, now with the frame of an adult monkey, no longer soft, cute, and adorable as before.

It watched her warily, shrinking back nervously.

Meng Qianzi stared at it for a long time.

Since Jiang Lian left, she rarely cried, much less became hysterical. On extremely rare occasions, after zoning out for a long time, she would touch her face and discover it covered in tears, which she would slowly wipe away with a tissue.

But this time, she suddenly couldn’t contain herself. For the first time in so long, she broke down sobbing.

She didn’t want this little white monkey to grow up. She wished it could remain as she remembered. She wanted Jiang Lian to stay unchanged and, by extension, wished this world wouldn’t change either. Yet everything changed, like flowing clouds that couldn’t be contained, like swift winds that couldn’t be grasped.

Time won’t reverse. What’s past won’t return. Jiang Lian would walk further and further away. If she didn’t pursue him now, she might never catch up.

…

Meng Qianzi pointed to the empty stage: “I arrived in Phoenix two days before you and saw this show earlier. For that era, Cuicui must have been very brave, willing to wait alone, to keep waiting. But I wonder, why didn’t she go out to search?”

Shen Gun said, “Probably due to the limitations of her time and circumstances. In that era, with wars and chaos, for a girl who rarely visited even the county town, how could she possibly search outside?”

Meng Qianzi acknowledged: “I think so too. Fortunately, I’m not her. I dare to search, and I can search. I don’t want to wait. I’d rather die on the road searching than wait to die under a roof.”

“None of you know what lies beyond the Great Wilderness, but it doesn’t matter. Whatever is there, as long as Jiang Lian is there, I’ll find him. Together in life, together in death. I want Jiang Lian to know he’s never alone in life or death. Even if his world becomes empty, I’ll still be there.”

Shen Gun listened quietly. He understood clearly that Meng Qianzi wasn’t seeking his opinion; she was simply informing him of a decision that would not change.

After a long while, he finally said, “Miss Meng, you’ve had this thought for a long time, haven’t you?”

For a very long time. From the moment Jiang Lian entered the Celestial Ladder, she had this thought.

But later, a severe illness struck. When she awoke, she was already in the Shangui Chamber, far from Kunlun Mountain. Several aunts took turns accompanying her, fearing she might despair.

Yet she remained calm, thinking this was for the best. Jiang Lian’s departure had been too hasty, while hers could be more deliberate.

These past two years, she had visited every Mountain Ghost enterprise and began studying financial reports—tasks previously arranged by Meng Jinsong that she had never bothered to glance at.

After reviewing them, she felt reassured. The Mountain Ghost enterprises had long been a well-functioning large system. What she would hand over wouldn’t be a mess, and even without her, the overall structure would suffer no great loss.

Just as the Mountain Ghost Throne had once been vacant for thirty-two years—what of it? The throne was merely an embellishment; the brocade without flowers was still brocade.

Gao Jinghong passed away two months ago. This was also for the best. Grand Aunt had worried about her for half a lifetime, fearing the white-haired would see off the black-haired. Now, there would be no such concern.

She went to Mount Tai to bid farewell to Second Mother Tang Yuru. Tang Yuru washed a bright red tomato in the clear spring water and gave it to her, watching her eat it before saying, “My girl has grown beyond her mother’s control.”

She went to Qingcheng Mountain to bid farewell to Third Mother Ni Qiuhui. Ni Qiuhui remained silent for a while before saying, “Go if you wish. Jiang Lian, that child, has suffered greatly. Being together, you can look after each other.”

She went to Wuhan and shared a meal of crayfish with Qiu Biying. Qiu Biying kept her head down, peeling crayfish, finally managing to say, “Little Qian, why not wait a bit longer? Perhaps in a couple of years, Jiang Lian will return?”

She also had a meal with her birth mother. The woman cooked a table full of dishes, entertaining her politely but awkwardly, asking, “Miss Meng, living with the aunts has been good, hasn’t it?”

She nodded in agreement.

The woman was very pleased and said, “The aunts are all knowledgeable. Being with them is better than being with me. You are blessed with good fortune to have such an opportunity.”

…

The attachments of the mortal world, thousands of threads, she severed them one by one, gradually detaching.

Meng Qianzi said to Shen Gun, “You’re the last person I’m notifying. Second and Third Mothers are elderly and don’t want to witness another departure, so they won’t see me off. Fifth Mother can’t ascend the plateau; she’s willing but unable. Fourth, Sixth, and Seventh Mothers, Jinsong, Xin Ci, and also Kuang Meiying, Wei Biao—they’ll all go to Kunlun. If you have time, you might as well accompany me. If you don’t want to go, consider this my farewell to you.”

Shen Gun hurriedly nodded, “I’ll go, of course I’ll go.”

Meng Qianzi said, “Good, I’ll tell Jinsong to add you.”

She said nothing more and rose to leave.

Shen Gun didn’t follow. He just sat there, watching her receding figure.

She walked very steadily, showing no sign of any leg impairment. Meng Qianzi, at any time, was a person particular about posture.

Shen Gun suddenly thought of Master Ge.

Master Ge’s vision was indeed accurate. Severing ties to enter the Great Wilderness—Meng Qianzi had finally decided to enter the Great Wilderness.

The aunts had guarded so vigilantly for so long, ultimately misinterpreting Master Ge’s meaning. The so-called “preservation through heartlessness” and “survival by cutting off emotions” probably meant that if Meng Qianzi could feel less deeply for Jiang Lian, perhaps she could turn the page and live the second half of her life in peace and stability.

But in the end, she couldn’t do it.

Shen Gun sat a while longer before rising dejectedly and slowly walking out. A staff member remained at the exit. Seeing Shen Gun emerge, they sighed in relief and spoke into a walkie-talkie: “All clear, show’s over.”

Shen Gun turned at these words.

In that instant, the few remaining lights in the theater went out, and darkness fell like a veil.

No more audience.

The song had ended.

The show was over.