According to Shen Gun, that day, the internet at his home had some problems, and his housemate was unreliable, so he volunteered to go to the county service center to handle the renewal and payment.

While he was paying, a woman on the phone passed by him, and he happened to overhear one sentence.

—”Really? Qianzi is going to extract a mountain gallbladder?”

Hearing this, Meng Qianzi had some idea of what had happened. To confirm, she interrupted Shen Gun: “Do you live near mountains?”

Shen Gun nodded vigorously: “The town where I live is called ‘Misty Town,’ surrounded by mountains. They say those mountains belong to the Yunling mountain range, what’s called ‘below Yunling’…”

That was enough information. Meng Jinsong bent down and whispered in Meng Qianzi’s ear: “Seventh Auntie is indeed accompanying mountains in the Yunling and Wuliang Mountain areas. Her whereabouts aren’t fixed, and the mountain areas have poor signal, making it difficult to contact her.”

Now it was clear.

During those days, she had been discussing extracting a mountain gallbladder in Western Hunan with the aunties who remained at Shan Gui Chamber. According to the rules, all seven aunties had to approve—those accompanying mountains, like Xian Qionghua, would receive calls from Big Niang Gao Jinghong. It seemed that when she received this call, she happened to be in that service center.

Meng Qianzi couldn’t blame her Seventh Mother for having low vigilance. Outsiders couldn’t understand the mountain dwellers’ jargon. Even if someone shouted “extract a mountain gallbladder” with a loudspeaker on the street, who would understand what it meant? People might think it was something delicious like sea urchin.

So it was indeed a coincidence, and coincidences make stories: Xian Qionghua had mentioned it casually, but as luck would have it, Shen Gun, who was standing nearby, actually knew about cutting open mountains to extract gallbladders.

“How do you know about extracting mountain gallbladders?”

Shen Gun’s answer was truly shocking.

He said: “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of it before. But somehow, I just feel that the words ‘mountain gallbladder’ have an inexplicable connection to me.”

For the first time in her life, Meng Qianzi couldn’t continue the conversation. She wanted to curse.

It was as if—

A police officer asks a murder suspect: “Why were you outside the victim’s house at two in the morning?”

The suspect answers: “I don’t know, somehow I just felt like taking a walk, and I happened to walk there.”

Do they think the police are stupid? Should she kill him right now?

Meng Qianzi suddenly had a thought—when her Seventh Mother said “don’t trouble this man,” was it because he had mental issues?

Modern society is indeed more tolerant toward people with mental disorders, to the extent that some murderers try everything to prove they have mental problems to escape deserved punishment.

Shen Gun didn’t notice the subtle change in Meng Qianzi’s expression and continued talking animatedly: “So, I immediately decided to follow her.”

Meng Qianzi’s lips curled into a mocking smile.

Following Xian Qionghua? What was he thinking? Although Seventh Mother was the youngest, she held the rank of Mountain Ear, undoubtedly a master. Someone like Shen Gun, who couldn’t even execute complete techniques, thought he could track her?

Sure enough, according to him, he was discovered by Xian Qionghua before following her for even one street, and suffered some physical punishment. However, he quickly proved to Xian Qionghua that he was “wholeheartedly devoted to scientific research.”

Meng Qianzi had to interrupt him again: “You’re a scientific researcher? What’s your specialty? What’s your educational background?”

Scientists might indeed have some peculiar habits that differ from ordinary people, but this Shen Gun exuded the aura of a street swindler and old trickster…

Shen Gun said, “Yes, since childhood, I’ve been dedicated to researching all mysterious and supernatural events in this world. After becoming an adult, I put it into action—crossing mountains and rivers, traveling north and south, entering villages and alleys… Until today, stopping and going, it’s been almost thirty years.”

He introduced himself as not someone who spread rumors or exaggerated for the sake of curiosity. With the spirit of scientific research and seeking truth from facts, he extensively interviewed witnesses, took detailed notes word by word, personally investigated event sites, and proposed his insights and theories. In this process, he also incorporated Western concepts for Chinese use, referencing the research findings of Newton, Einstein, Hawking, and other giants to establish his theoretical system. His academic level approached that of a university department head, and he had even written a book—this book had changed Xian Qionghua’s attitude toward him…

Meng Qianzi interrupted him for the third time: “What’s the title of the book?”

Her tone had softened considerably. She hadn’t expected him to be a cultured person. When communicating with cultured people, she should be more refined.

Behind her, Meng Jinsong had already taken out his phone, preparing to search for a synopsis and reviews.

Yet once again, Shen Gun surprised them: “You can’t buy it. I printed it myself.”

Self-printed? Anyone could self-print. If it weren’t for her Seventh Mother’s message, Meng Qianzi would have kicked him over without hesitation.

She restrained herself patiently, wanting to clarify everything: “So then my Seventh Mother directed you to find me?”

Shen Gun shook his head: “Sister Xian didn’t say anything, neither encouraging nor stopping me. She just said, ‘If you insist on going, suit yourself, but don’t talk about the mountain gallbladder to outsiders.’ And also, ‘Our Sister Zi is formidable, with a heavy hand. I’ll leave a message for you. If you truly offend her, she’ll be polite to you for my sake.”

Meng Qianzi responded with an “mm,” her expression between a smile and not, showing some satisfaction: firstly, her Seventh Mother had indeed followed the rules—apart from that unintentional slip, she hadn’t told this man anything more; secondly, Seventh Mother had praised her as “formidable”—who doesn’t like being praised? Such praise behind one’s back was much more genuine than face-to-face compliments.

She pondered for a moment: “And then, you found Wan Fenghuo and inquired about me? How much did he charge?”

Knowing her name was Meng Qianzi, and then finding her whereabouts through Wan Fenghuo wasn’t difficult. She was just curious about her price: Wan Fenghuo received gifts from the mountain dwellers three times a year—if he betrayed her for just ten or eight thousand…heh, expelling him and his founder from Jiefangbei would be justified.

However, Shen Gun once again surprised them: “No, he didn’t charge. Little Wan Wan is my friend, very supportive of my scientific research. It was free.”

Wan Fenghuo, that miserly old man, offering something for free? Meng Jinsong felt somewhat indignant: the mountain dwellers of Sichuan and Chongqing were so proactive in maintaining “bilateral” relations, yet when they asked Wan Fenghuo for some information, the best they could get was a 30% discount.

By this point, Meng Qianzi had basically clarified the cause and effect of the matter. This Shen Gun truly had no connection to her golden bell—they were completely unrelated.

But regarding his motivation, Meng Qianzi was still not entirely convinced: “Just because ‘somehow’ you felt the matter had a connection to you, you came all this way without hesitation?”

Shen Gun became serious: “Not just that. How should I explain it to you…”

He thought for a moment, trying to explain as simply as possible: “I feel that the words ‘mountain gallbladder’ are like a switch that will unlock something I’ve been puzzling over, such as why I’ve been so fascinated by those mysterious things since childhood. I’ve spent most of my life continuously recording, searching—why do I have such strong motivation and drive? Many of my friends have asked me this, saying I have too much time on my hands—but even when I had no money for food, I was still doing these things—completely inconsistent with Maslow’s hierarchy of needs theory.”

Maslow? What did Maslow do? Meng Qianzi felt she might have learned about this theory, but couldn’t recall it now.

At this moment, the importance of an assistant became evident. Meng Jinsong immediately searched for Maslow’s hierarchy pyramid on his phone and handed it to Meng Qianzi.

This foreign psychologist had categorized human needs from low to high into five levels, ascending in order: physiological needs, safety needs, social needs, esteem needs, and self-actualization needs.

It was generally believed that only when lower-level needs were satisfied could one have the energy to pursue higher levels. For instance, if Lin Daiyu had to work in the rice fields day and night, she generally wouldn’t have the leisure to bury flowers—being well-fed would belong to the lowest level of “physiological needs,” while his “scientific research” belonged to the realization of self-aspirations, which would be at the highest level. Pursuing self-actualization while suffering from hunger and cold indeed didn’t fit into the category of “having too much time on one’s hands,” as his stomach was still empty.

“And also, since hearing that sentence, I often have a dream.”

Shen Gun described vividly: “The settings of the dreams vary, but they’re all places I’ve been to—sometimes in the old Xueling Mountains in the Northeast, sometimes in the great desert of the Northwest, sometimes at Hangu Pass, and sometimes in the Eight Thousand Mountains of Guangxi…”

Meng Qianzi just listened without commenting, except when she heard “Eight Thousand Mountains,” she exchanged a glance with Meng Jinsong.

The Eight Thousand Mountains, located in Guangxi, were among the mountain dwellers’ “unexplored mountains.”

Unexplored mountains, as the name suggests, were neither patrolled nor accompanied—treated as if they didn’t exist, bypassed entirely. In the mountain registry, they were marked with red crosses as forbidden zones. More bluntly, they weren’t within the sphere of influence of the mountain dwellers.

Throughout the country, there weren’t many unexplored mountains—they could be counted on fingers. So, for Shen Gun to casually mention an unexplored mountain as an example was quite a coincidence.

“But regardless of the location, in the dream, I’m always anxious and sweating, turning things over, searching, digging, looking for something.”

Meng Qianzi slightly raised her eyelids: “Looking for a mountain gallbladder?”

Shen Gun shook his head: “No, I never find it. But strangely, I know in my heart what I’m looking for. Even stranger, it’s not just me—several of my closest friends have also dreamed about me, and in their dreams, I always tell them I’m looking for something.”

The conversation was becoming increasingly mysterious. Meng Qianzi had no interest in continuing this roundabout discussion and casually asked: “What are you looking for?”

Shen Gun’s expression became increasingly serious: “A chest.”

He gestured with his hands to show her: “A chest this long and this wide, stolen by someone.”

“Who stole it? What style is the chest? Is it wooden or iron? Haven’t you asked Wan Fenghuo to help you find it?”

Shen Gun looked at her blankly, and as he continued looking, he became lost in his thoughts.

He didn’t know. He only knew he needed to find a chest, only knew the chest had been stolen. As for what the chest looked like, who had stolen it, and what story lay behind it, he knew nothing. It was like the heavy fog that often enveloped his Misty Town, concealing the surrounding mountains and revealing only some rugged rocks. Who could reconstruct the complete image of the mountains just from those rocks?

He was so immersed in his bewilderment that he didn’t notice Meng Qianzi had already left, nor did he see that as she left, she even yawned, as if she had watched a boring movie or heard an uninteresting story.

Leaving Shen Er to guard the door, Meng Qianzi returned with Meng Jinsong.

The corridor was indeed long, with its end connecting to the main hall—the sound waves from there were like long tentacles, desperately reaching this way, but they couldn’t quite reach.

Meng Qianzi said, “Does he seem mentally ill to you?”

Meng Jinsong deliberated before answering: he wasn’t like Xin Ci, who could speak freely in front of Meng Qianzi—essentially, Meng Qianzi was his boss, and any question she asked had an evaluative meaning, measuring him.

He shook his head: “He seems deranged, and his words are jumbled, but the fact that Seventh Auntie left that message and Wan Fenghuo gave him a green light suggests this person has some weight to him.”

Meng Qianzi was quite satisfied with this answer: “That’s what I think too.”

Meng Jinsong always accurately gauged her thoughts: “But being courteous is one thing—taking him to extract a mountain gallbladder would be too frivolous. This is our family matter; why should we let him watch? Let him dream all he wants; we’re not obligated to help interpret his dreams.”

Meng Qianzi nodded: “Have Liu Guanguo entertain him well. Arrange for someone to take him on a tour of Zhangjiajie, or Fenghuang would be fine too, or simply take him mountain climbing—just take him far away so he doesn’t interfere with our business.”

The last part of her statement, the words “our business,” again transformed Meng Jinsong into a frowning, silent figure, his mind revolving around the golden bell: what could they do? There were no clues at all, absolutely none. Although it hadn’t been a full twenty-four hours since the golden bell went missing, in his heart, it felt like three autumns had passed. Now his entire body and mind were bathed in the harsh cold of deep winter.

Meng Qianzi couldn’t stand his dejected appearance: “What are you afraid of? The Chen clan just sent chen sand crystal, and the Tiger Household gave a tiger claw. At worst, I’ll carry both when cutting open the mountain. Chen sand wards off evil, and the tiger claw subdues beasts—rounding up, it’s roughly equivalent to the golden bell.”

Meng Jinsong almost laughed from frustration—which math teacher taught her about rounding up like that?

As he was caught between laughter and tears, Xin Ci jumped out from the corner ahead, his face glowing with joy and excitement: “You finally finished! I’ve come to peek several times already.”

He raised his hand, waving a piece of copied paper, presenting it right in front of Meng Qianzi with an air of triumph: “Qianzi, you should give me a raise now.”

(End of Volume One)