Xin Ci was itching with curiosity, eager to see how this reserved Meng Jinsong would use his thunderous methods to interrogate the mysterious visitor. Yet he felt it wouldn’t be appropriate to follow along—being sent back would be too embarrassing. So he stayed to keep Meng Qianzi company in the private room, making idle conversation as they ate.

Halfway through the meal, Meng Jinsong returned.

Xin Ci was surprised. “You’ve finished questioning already?”

Meng Jinsong didn’t respond verbally, just giving him a look.

Understanding immediately, Xin Ci realized the upcoming conversation would be sensitive and inappropriate for him to hear. He pushed his bowl aside and quietly left the room. Having been at Meng Qianzi’s side for over a year, there were many occasions where he no longer needed to excuse himself—he didn’t consider himself an outsider anymore. But there were still certain matters that reminded him there was a barrier between him and them.

The feeling was sour and uncomfortable.

Meng Qianzi was also curious. “So quickly? Did the man confess everything, or did he refuse to talk?”

Meng Jinsong said, “I only got half the story. For the rest, you’ll need to question him yourself. I wouldn’t dare continue.”

Meng Qianzi’s interest was piqued. “You wouldn’t dare? Can he bite? Couldn’t you have knocked out his teeth?”

Meng Jinsong didn’t rush to answer, first briefing her on what he had learned: “The man calls himself Shen Gun…”

Shen Gun? What kind of name was that? Meng Qianzi frowned. “He doesn’t have a real name?”

“He does. His ID says Shen Mukun, which sounds like ‘Shen Gun.’ It’s fake.”

“Couldn’t you trace any family relationships?”

“No. He claims he was abandoned as a child at the entrance of Xiaocun Village in Yunnan Province…”

What’s with “Xiaocun Village entrance”? Meng Qianzi looked at Meng Jinsong. “Is your tongue tied?”

Meng Jinsong couldn’t help but laugh. “The village is called ‘Xiaocun,’ so together it’s ‘Xiaocun Village,’ and its entrance is ‘Xiaocun Village entrance.'”

It was indeed tongue-twisting, and he was having trouble saying it clearly. “He says he grew up begging, eating at different households, and doing odd jobs. He’s over fifty now. When he was born, it was during the great political movements in China—quite a chaotic time.”

In those years, abandoning children at village entrances, riverbanks, or temple doors was common when families couldn’t afford to raise them.

Seeing that Meng Qianzi had no further questions, Meng Jinsong continued: “Wan Fenghuo helped him get the invitation.”

Meng Qianzi thought the name sounded familiar. “Wan Fenghuo?”

Meng Jinsong, ever the capable assistant, immediately explained: “He’s part of a group that takes money to gather secret information about various factions. They revere Bai Xiaosheng from wuxia novels as their founding master. Their largest operation is at Jiefangbei in Chongqing. Wan Fenghuo was the former manager, now semi-retired.”

Now she remembered. Given the flamboyant nature of Shan Gui, such a person would naturally be among his acquaintances. The mountain dwellers of Sichuan and Chongqing were probably responsible for maintaining this relationship.

“Wan Fenghuo discovered you were hosting a dinner here and helped Shen Gun get Li Changnian’s invitation. First, they’re about the same age. Second, Li Changnian lives in a remote place and rarely comes down from the mountain, hardly socializing with anyone, and not many people know him. Mr. Wan probably thought it would just be a dinner with many people, making it easy to blend in unnoticed.”

Meng Qianzi smiled. “This Wan Fenghuo, did we miss sending him holiday gifts or something?”

“Mid-Autumn Festival, New Year’s Day, Lunar New Year—we’ve sent gifts to his door for all three holidays, never missing once.”

“He takes our gifts, then sends someone to disrupt my gathering. Mr. Wan isn’t young anymore, yet still so thoughtless. Say something to our people in Sichuan and Chongqing, teach them a lesson.”

Meng Jinsong’s expression was hesitant. “Qianzi, I think we shouldn’t act hastily. You should question him thoroughly before deciding.”

This was the second time he emphasized “you should question him,” and Meng Qianzi’s face darkened. She disliked people being mysterious.

Meng Jinsong gave a bitter smile and showed her a photo from his phone.

This must be the self-proclaimed Shen Gun, about forty or fifty years old, with an amusing appearance—messy curly hair, glasses probably damaged during the struggle, with one temple piece unnaturally twisted and one lens cracked. But that wasn’t the focus. The important thing was that he was grinning, pulling his jacket open to reveal a white t-shirt underneath.

Meng Qianzi looked at Meng Jinsong. “Just taken?”

Despite being practically tied up and carried out, the man could still smile.

Meng Jinsong knew she hadn’t noticed the key detail. “Zoom in and look at the text on his t-shirt.”

There was indeed a line of text on the t-shirt. At first, Meng Qianzi thought it was part of the shirt’s design.

She zoomed in for a closer look.

It was handwritten with an oil-based marker.

—Sister Zi, don’t trouble this man.

The signature was a single character: Seven.

Meng Qianzi was startled and blurted out: “My Seventh Mother?”

Among the seven aunties of Shan Gui Chamber, ranging from forty to seventy-five years old, apart from the eldest, Gao Jinghong, whom she called Big Niang (niang, flat tone), she addressed the others by age from Second Mother to Seventh Mother.

It was understandable that Gao Jinghong disliked being called “Big Mother”—at seventy-five, she applied light makeup every morning, had weekly facials, and a hairstylist named Tony who came to her home. Even in her fifties during the 1990s, she frequently traveled to Hong Kong and Taiwan just to buy the trendiest makeup and clothes. Meng Qianzi admitted to herself that she indeed couldn’t bring herself to use the term “Big Mother” for her.

And the youngest, Seventh Mother, named Xian Qionghua, loved to call her “Sister Zi.”

Meng Jinsong sighed. “This is Seventh Auntie’s doing. Qianzi, now you understand why I didn’t dare question him further? I was planning to rough him up a bit, but then he opened his jacket…”

It was like he was wearing an imperial yellow robe—who would dare to disrespect Seventh Auntie’s wishes?

Meng Qianzi murmured, “My Seventh Mother, I remember she went to…”

On such details, Meng Jinsong, fulfilling his duties, remembered everything clearly: “She went to accompany the mountains in the Yunling area of Yunnan, left at the beginning of the year.”

“Accompanying the mountains” was similar to “patrolling the mountains,” a tradition among the Shan Gui’s high-ranking members. People born in the mountains needed to stay connected to them regularly, remaining grounded with their “community.” Patrolling was a cursory visit, like a tourist trip, while accompanying meant a long stay, from three to five months or even a year.

Among the seven aunties, only the eldest, Gao Jinghong, stayed permanently at Huangshan Villa due to her age. The others, following their preferences, had their favorite mountains to accompany. For instance, Third Mother Ni Qiuhui loved the Sichuan-Chongqing area, especially Mount Emei and Mount Qingcheng; Fourth Mother Jing Rusi preferred the Qinling Mountains, with Mount Hua as her top choice; while Seventh Mother Xian Qionghua favored the mountain ranges in Yunnan, such as the Yunling Mountains, Wuliang Mountains, and Ailao Mountains.

Xin Ci had once made a mischievous comparison, saying each auntie had her mountain idol, and going to accompany the mountains was like supporting their favorite idol. Making official visits to other mountains was called “paying respects to another’s domain.”

Meng Qianzi adjusted her eye patch and stood up. “Since this man has the Seventh Mother’s endorsement, I should go see him personally.”

Meanwhile, Xin Ci had gone downstairs with nothing to do. Every table was lively with conversation, but none of it concerned him. He wasn’t the type to quickly become familiar with strangers, so he could only lean awkwardly against a pillar in the corner of the hall, browsing through the Mountain Canon to pass time.

Just as he was feeling bored, someone passed by, then stopped: “Xin… the makeup artist?”

Xin Ci looked up to see an unfamiliar man, about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, of average build and ordinary appearance, but giving off a steady, reliable impression.

The man introduced himself: “I’m Qiu Dong. Assistant Meng assigned me to the main hall.”

So he was one of their own. Xin Ci was polite: “Just call me Xin Ci.”

As he spoke, he wondered: stationed in the main hall? He hadn’t seen this person before, and besides, the man had just come in from outside.

Perhaps it was because of the recent incident with the impersonation of Li Changnian, but he was feeling a bit paranoid.

Qiu Dong noticed his confusion and smiled, showing a stack of printed papers in his hand: “I just went to make copies. The old Ga from Baweng Village brought a rare talisman pattern for people to examine, but everyone he asked couldn’t understand it. The original was just two pages and was partially burned. I helped him make more copies to distribute—there are many knowledgeable people here who might be able to help.”

That explained it. Xin Ci moved aside slightly to indicate “carry on, I won’t disturb your work.” Qiu Dong nodded at him and was about to leave when he remembered something: “Does our… Miss Meng understand talismans? Maybe… could Miss Meng take a look?”

Meng Qianzi wouldn’t know anything about this. Even slightly complex patterns she dismissed as “ghost scribbles.”

Xin Ci was about to shake his head when he suddenly realized: how could he say Qianzi didn’t understand? At all times, he should maintain her image as an omnipotent, all-knowing, high-class, mysterious figure. Besides, Qiu Dong’s expectant face clearly showed he hoped their boss would know what others didn’t and could do what others couldn’t.

So he nodded seriously, took one copy and rolled it in his hand, planning to give it to Meng Qianzi when he saw her, or dispose of it somewhere once Qiu Dong left—suddenly he heard footsteps on the stairs, and simultaneously, the noisy hall fell silent.

Meng Qianzi had come down.

In this hall, apart from those meeting in private rooms, most people hadn’t seen her but knew she was in a small room upstairs. So when she appeared, she naturally became the focus of attention.

Meng Qianzi seemed accustomed to calmly bearing everyone’s gaze without making any response. With Meng Jinsong beside her, she quickly disappeared around the corner.

The hall buzzed like a disturbed beehive, becoming noisy again. Xin Ci watched her the whole way, feeling proud—after all, it was his work. God knows how much effort he had put into her makeup and styling. It was impressive that even with one eye covered, she maintained her imposing aura. He, Xin Ci, truly deserved credit.

When he happily retracted his gaze, he noticed the young woman again.

It was impossible not to notice her. While others were whispering and discussing, she remained calm, unhurriedly continuing her meal. She appeared to be a Miao woman, her hair in a bun, with long silver Miao earrings set with old blue sapphires hanging beside her ears, accentuating the delicate whiteness of her neck.

Strange—she wasn’t perfect, and he was someone who demanded perfection. If there was even a single wrinkle on Meng Qianzi’s clothes, he would rush to smooth it out. But looking at this woman, his critical heart suddenly softened. He felt that her imperfections, such as her mouth not being small enough and her jawline being slightly square, were inconsequential, even reflecting a rustic beauty.

The woman seemed to sense someone watching her, frowning slightly as if about to look up…

Damn it! Xin Ci instantly panicked, quickly averting his gaze, afraid she might think he was a peeping pervert. No, no, no, he wasn’t looking at her, he was busy with work, intensely focused on work…

His back was burning with embarrassment. In his panic, he remembered the “prop” in his hand and quickly unfolded the copy, pretending to be deeply engrossed in studying the talisman pattern.

The woman was looking at him now.

Xin Ci felt as if needles were pricking his back. He studied the paper even more intently. The tadpole-like symbols on the talisman seemed to jump before his eyes, and the hand holding the paper edge trembled slightly.

He hypnotized himself.

—I’m busy, I’ve been looking at the talisman all along, I didn’t look at you, don’t look at me either, I’m looking at the talisman, yes, I’m studying this talisman, this talisman is really interesting, this talisman… why does it look somewhat… familiar?

After dismissing the unnecessary personnel, Meng Qianzi sat down facing Shen Gun.

This was a small private room at the end of the corridor, quite far from the main hall. Liu Guanguo had rented the entire restaurant, with all guests gathered in one area, making this place seem even quieter, almost silent.

Shen Gun widened his eyes, looking at her intently: “Are you Meng Qianzi?”

Before Meng Qianzi could even respond with an “mm,” he pointed at his own eyes and asked: “Is this… were you born with just one eye?”

This was extremely tactless. Anyone else might have flipped the table immediately, but precisely because Meng Qianzi wasn’t born with a defect, she wasn’t sensitive about it. Moreover, Shen Gun’s expression and tone didn’t feel offensive—he just seemed simple-minded or naturally tactless.

Toying with such a minor character was like playing with a cat or bird. Meng Qianzi smiled, resting one arm on the table and supporting her chin with her hand. She lowered her voice mysteriously: “No, this eye has two pupils in it.”

Standing nearby, Meng Jinsong’s eyes showed resignation, with a sigh trapped in his chest. His feelings mirrored those when he had received the eye patch and white cane she had sent him.

Yet what astonished him more was Shen Gun’s excited reaction.

Genuinely excited, his aged face lit up: “Double pupils! You have double pupils in one eye! Do you know that one of the Five Emperors of ancient times, Emperor Shun, had double pupils! And the legendary creator of characters, Cangjie, had ‘dragon face and four eyes’—he had double pupils too! People with double pupils are all sages, did you know that?”

Is that so?

A hint of confusion flashed in Meng Qianzi’s single visible eye. Of course, she didn’t know this. The reason she hadn’t claimed to have three pupils under her eye patch was purely because she thought it would be too crowded—they wouldn’t fit.

But who was she? Someone who could adapt to any role effortlessly. Her finger was already at her lips: “Shh… keep it down, don’t let others hear.”

Shen Gun’s body trembled with excitement, and his voice dropped by eight degrees, surprisingly obedient: “Then… may I see it?”

Meng Jinsong glanced at Shen Gun, suspecting the man might be mentally ill. Two pupils in one eye socket? It was nonsense. Besides, shouldn’t a normal person’s first reaction be surprise or doubt? How could he skip straight to excitement without any shock or skepticism?

Meng Qianzi sat up straight, her index finger curled, tapping her nail on the table surface: “Let’s get to the point. Why did you sneak into my banquet?”

Those words brought Shen Gun back to the matter at hand.

He glanced at Meng Qianzi, hesitantly: “I heard you’re going to cut open a mountain to extract its gallbladder. Could you take me with you?”

Hearing the words “extract the gallbladder,” Meng Jinsong’s head buzzed. This was highly confidential information known only to the seven aunties, Qianzi, and himself within the Shan Gui organization. Even Xin Ci hadn’t been told. How did Shen Gun know about it? Had Xian Qionghua revealed this to an outsider?

Meng Qianzi’s face remained expressionless as she slowly leaned back in her chair: “How do you know I’m going to cut open a mountain to extract its gallbladder?”

This Shen Gun really couldn’t read the room. Meng Qianzi’s tone was ominously dark—anyone else would have trembled by now, yet he remained cheerfully excited: “Actually, it’s quite a coincidence!”