Her eye was at its most frightening stage of swelling after the injury. No matter how breathable the eyepatch was, it still trapped heat. Combined with Lou Hong’s complete lack of psychological preparation, the contrast between before and after removing it was too great. He couldn’t help but cry out, “Aiya!”

Meng Qianzi tossed the eyepatch onto the table: “We’re not inquiring about this matter for fun. Last night, I went into the mountains for the mountain mirage and encountered trouble, nearly losing an eyeball. According to the rules, we shouldn’t be asking about your family’s affairs, but since we’re good friends, and I’ve been injured and bled, shouldn’t we make an exception?”

She looked up at Meng Jinsong: “Go find Liu Guanguo and bring a thank-you card for our good friend from the Lou family.”

Meng Jinsong acknowledged and quickly left the room. When he returned, he placed a bank card in front of Lou Hong and said softly: “The password is six eights.”

Lou Hong’s heart raced. He had heard that the Mountain Ghosts were generous with their thank-you cards, always using bank cards with amounts in the tens of thousands—this was truly honoring him. A personal meeting, the gift arriving first, and the injured party was the boss herself. If he still held back information, he would be too disloyal. Besides, the walking profession had nearly vanished anyway.

Lou Hong cleared his throat: “Then I won’t be polite. Thank you, Miss Meng, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to tell you anything useful, and you’ll have wasted your money.”

“In the walking profession, there are indeed different branches and schools with different operational methods. Just for placing talismans on the forehead of the ‘joy spirit,’ some use cinnabar to draw them, others use rooster blood. When leading the joy spirit, some wave banners, some ring bells, and others beat gongs.”

“Joy spirit” was a euphemism for “dead person,” using a similar sound to avoid taboos.

“Our branch has been passed down for several hundred years, eventually establishing three major lineages: the Lou family, the He family, and the Huang family. To be honest, the Lou lineage has no one else left; now it’s just me alone. I don’t plan to pass it down—and even if I wanted to, there’s no one to receive it.”

Meng Jinsong began to sweat slightly: The person they encountered last night wasn’t this Lou Hong. Meng Qianzi’s golden bell likely ended up with either the He or Huang family.

Lou Hong wasn’t foolish: “I know Miss Meng must suspect those two surnames, but it’s truly impossible. The Huang lineage ended even earlier. In the 40s, Huang Tongsheng took a job walking and encountered Japanese devils near Changsha. He was killed by a burst of machine gun fire. How tragic! The joy spirit wasn’t led back home and became a wandering ghost. In those chaotic times, no one even collected his body, which rotted outside. At that time, he hadn’t yet accepted apprentices, so the lineage was cut off. When I was first initiated, my grandfather often mentioned this, so I remember it clearly.”

Meng Jinsong asked him: “What about the He family?”

Lou Hong waved his hand as if shooing flies: “That’s even more impossible. They left Western Hunan territory long ago.”

Meng Qianzi wouldn’t accept this evasion: “Tell me about it.”

Lou Hong hesitated a bit, then thought, with the bank card already in front of him, he should indeed provide some insider information to be fair: “Well… Miss Meng should understand the basic principles of walking, right? If so, I won’t need to repeat them.”

Meng Qianzi nodded slightly.

Regarding why corpses could be driven, the outside world circulated many explanations: some said the corpses were carried on backs, others suggested using magnetic force to make the joy spirits walk, and still others claimed it was two living people carrying a string of people with arms stretched forward, connected by two bamboo poles. Since bamboo has elasticity, the walking would have a bouncing, trembling quality. Combined with the fact that walking always happened at night and outsiders kept their distance, at first glance, it appeared as if corpses were bouncing along—but this exaggerated bouncing and jumping was merely a dramatic effect in Hong Kong zombie films. Real corpse-driving was secretive and low-key; often, without close observation, one wouldn’t notice anything unusual.

What was the truth? It was a family secret that outsiders could only speculate about, never knowing for certain. The transmission of ancient Chinese skills inevitably had some pettiness, setting various barriers like “pass to males but not females” or “pass within but not outside the family.” Even when they reluctantly accepted disciples of different surnames, they would still “hold back one hand,” fearing disciples might surpass their masters. The source water flowed ever thinner—countless traditions, like countless trembling kite strings, once the thread broke, lost all strength, and later generations could never find the source again.

But Old Lady Duan Wenxi, a female teacher who had studied abroad and closely observed corpse-driving and exchanged knowledge with the Lou family’s grand master, had her own understanding. Years later, recalling it, she believed walking masters utilized the remaining joint elasticity in corpses, or what might be called bioelectricity.

To make an inappropriate comparison, a frog in the market that has been skinned and beheaded might still have legs that twitch occasionally—a recently deceased corpse’s bioelectricity hasn’t completely disappeared. The masters would apply cinnabar to the corpse’s forehead, back, chest, palms, and soles, and would plug the ears, nose, and mouth. Combined with special talismans, these practices were half for preserving the body and half for extending the residual time of this bioelectricity. This way, when driving the corpse, with slight guidance and pulling, the joy spirit could follow along.

Since she understood, the conversation became easier. Lou Hong sighed with relief: “Walking was classified under Zhu Youke, which was for healing and saving people. In the past, we called ourselves Zhu Youke doctors. The most mystical claim about Zhu Youke was his ability to revive the dead. Leading joy spirits was the lowest level of ‘revival.’ Think about it—originally, joy spirits couldn’t move, but we could lead them to walk, covering great distances, sustaining them for at least three to five days, or up to half a month. Isn’t that ‘reviving the dead’?”

Meng Qianzi remained expressionless: “What about higher levels?”

Lou Hong steadied himself: “The higher levels were even more mystical. I’ve never seen them, and even my grandfather and his generation only heard about them—supposedly they could sustain the dead for longer, and besides walking, the corpses could do many other things…”

He hesitated, not wanting to embellish too much, and changed the subject: “So it was strictly forbidden. When teaching disciples, we only mentioned it briefly—who knew that in the He family lineage, one generation produced a formidable figure? Even his master couldn’t do it, but through his study and research, drawing inferences from related areas, he succeeded. We walkers have always respected the dead and wouldn’t disturb joy spirits. Death is death, that journey is over, and all matters should rest. It was mostly family members who couldn’t accept it, searching high and low, wanting to try any method, workable or not, to revive their loved ones. Later, I heard the He family member couldn’t resist the persistent pressure from a wealthy household and performed the Yin-Yang Pairing.”

Meng Qianzi asked curiously: “What is the Yin-Yang Pairing?”

Lou Hong couldn’t explain clearly: “It’s the highest level method, not only enabling the person to perform actions but also giving them basic consciousness and awareness, though incomparable to a normal person—but this method is very toxic and requires harming many lives to implement…”

Meng Jinsong’s thoughts stirred: “Similar to using living people’s lives to replenish the dead?”

That was probably it, but these were events from several generations ago. Even the grand master wasn’t clear on the details, and whenever it was mentioned, it was shrouded in secrecy. So Lou Hong had only heard fragments: “In any case, how could this be acceptable? As they say, ‘Humans follow Earth, Earth follows Heaven, Heaven follows the Way, and the Way follows Nature.’ Death is death. Forcibly trying to revive the dead defies Heaven and must incur public anger. Walkers most abhor those with impure hearts and improper conduct, so at that time, the entire He lineage was expelled from Western Hunan.”

Meng Qianzi laughed scornfully: “I don’t understand—what kind of punishment is being expelled from Western Hunan? In this world, besides Western Hunan, there’s also Western Guangxi, Western Jiangxi, Western Shanxi…”

At this point, she paused, as if momentarily unable to recall other “Westerns.” Xin Ci cleverly reminded her: “There’s also Western Shaanxi.”

Meng Qianzi ignored him: “Aren’t you just giving the He family a wider world to commit crimes in?”

Lou Hong replied awkwardly: “This was… several hundred years ago. Back then, people didn’t leave their native land, so expulsion was considered a severe punishment.”

Very well. The Lou family was impossible, and the Huang family had been shot dead by Japanese soldiers. The golden bell matter must be closely tied to the He family. Meng Jinsong pursued: “Where did they go? Guizhou? Or Hubei?”

Guizhou and Hubei both bordered Western Hunan, likely the first places they would settle after leaving home.

Lou Hong smiled: “Guizhou, Hubei, and even Sichuan were all within the former walking range. The He family had no face to show and wouldn’t dare live so close. I heard they went to the western frontier of Qinghai. But Assistant Meng, I know what you’re thinking—it wasn’t them.”

He spoke with certainty: “My grandfather said they also sent people to inquire about them. Indeed, as they say, ‘a dog can’t change its habit of eating excrement.’ They were truly too greedy and continued doing those shameless things. But as the old saying goes, ‘evil people will be ground down by other evil people.’ Do too many unconscionable things, and retribution will come sooner or later. This incident happened before liberation. The He family’s independent homestead was wiped out by the Ma warlord who controlled Qinghai. A single fire burned everything to the ground.”

Xin Ci couldn’t help commenting: “Such family extermination cases are hard to judge. They happen all the time in TV shows, and there’s always one or two who escape the net.”

Lou Hong didn’t deny this: “Perhaps, but when the He family was expelled from Western Hunan, they made a solemn oath with the joy spirits never to set foot in Western Hunan again—Miss Meng, you should know that when walkers swear by joy spirits, they dare not violate it. So the trouble you encountered last night couldn’t possibly have been caused by the He family.”

Lou Hong had been quite forthcoming, holding nothing back. However, there weren’t many leads to begin with, and after listening to his lengthy explanation, there were even fewer.

After seeing Lou Hong off, Meng Qianzi laughed: “Only three families were possible, but all three turned out to be impossible. The person fishing for ghost paintings last night might truly have been a ghost.”

Meng Jinsong couldn’t laugh. He only felt anxious, with another layer of sweat forming on his back. He had hoped Lou Hong’s lead would help recover the golden bell, but now that lead was also severed.

Still afraid to conceal the truth, he said, “Qianzi, we should still inform the aunts. They have broad knowledge and many connections, they might have a way…”

Meng Qianzi glanced at him: “What are you afraid of? We can delay one day at a time. Perhaps a turning point will come unexpectedly.”

She was truly optimistic. Meng Jinsong laughed bitterly in extreme frustration: “Can we delay? On this trip, the aunts repeatedly instructed you to bring the golden bell—you need it for mountain-cutting!”

Mountain-cutting?

Another new term. Xin Ci wanted to ask, but felt the current atmosphere was inappropriate. He held back and privately opened the mountain encyclopedia on his device.

The entry for “mountain-cutting” did exist, but when he clicked on it, it immediately displayed a few words:

No permission to view.

It seemed this was something he shouldn’t know, shouldn’t ask about, and shouldn’t spread to others. Xin Ci was quite perceptive and quietly tucked his phone back into his pocket, pretending nothing had happened.

Meng Qianzi remained composed: “You just can’t keep calm. It hasn’t even been 24 hours since the incident. Have some patience. Even missing persons require 24 hours before a police report can be filed.”

Meng Jinsong lost his temper at her words. Just as he was about to say something, a sudden uproar erupted downstairs, accompanied by the sounds of chairs falling, tables overturning, and cups and plates shattering. Amidst angry shouts and curses, someone desperately cried out: “Help! Kidnapping! Murder!”

What trouble was this now?

Meng Qianzi went to the door to look.

Indeed, a table had been overturned, with plates, dishes, wine, and food scattered all over the floor. The people at that table had all stood up to avoid the commotion. In the center, a curly-haired, bespectacled man in his forties or fifties was desperately struggling and kicking, and though he wasn’t particularly imposing, it took three strong laborers to subdue him—Shen Wangu and Shen Bang each held his arms and legs, while Liu Guanguo held the man’s head and covered his mouth, trying to carry him out of the main hall.

Xin Ci craned his neck. He remembered: Wasn’t this the same man who had been holding a paper, shaking his head and muttering something about “Cangjie created characters with one load of millet” earlier?

At a glance, Meng Jinsong’s anger flared: “They can’t even handle a small matter properly. Useless!”

He reluctantly explained to Meng Qianzi: “This person came with someone else’s invitation, trying to impersonate them. He probably thought since it was just a dinner invitation, no one would check carefully—he didn’t know we had profiles for every guest. He was caught by our people at the reception desk. Fearing they might alert others, they didn’t make a scene and came to report to me first.”

Meng Qianzi remained noncommittal: “And then you arranged to… capture him like this?”

She emphasized the words “like this,” clearly dissatisfied with the approach.

Meng Jinsong was embarrassed: “No, I told them to find an excuse to take the person away from the main hall for questioning. They must have handled it poorly, allowing him to run back.”

Meng Qianzi made a sound of acknowledgment, then, after a pause, said: “This is how you host guests.”

Meng Jinsong understood. This hosting of guests had turned into a farce, an enormous embarrassment. Feeling that his arrangements were inappropriate and face-losing, he said: “I’ll go down and handle it.”

After taking just two steps toward the door, Meng Qianzi stopped him: “Impersonating someone just to get a free meal seems unlikely, doesn’t it?”

Meng Jinsong nodded: “That’s why I said we should detain this person and get to the bottom of it.”

Meng Qianzi’s thoughts stirred: “There have been quite a few unusual situations these past two days. Last night, I encountered trouble and lost the golden bell. Today, someone is impersonating a guest at my banquet. These events happening one after another—could they be related to last night? Could there be a connection?”

She had initially wanted to say, “Could it be the same person from last night?” but then realized that the person from last night was a young man with excellent martial skills, far too different from the person before them, so she changed her wording.

Meng Jinsong felt a chill in his heart, finding her words very reasonable. Perhaps unexpectedly, a new lead might emerge, circling back to this curly-haired old devil.

His tone became urgent: “I’ll handle it.”

Meng Qianzi watched him hurry downstairs, feeling that everything was proceeding according to plan and well under control: “As I said, one must be patient in handling matters. Why rush things?”

For those in the Mountain Ghost Clan, when the vehicle reaches the mountain, there’s always a path forward.