Meng Jinsong didn’t answer but handed the rod to Meng Qianzi while instructing Xin Ci: “From now on, stay close to Qianzi. In the Mountain Mirage, what looks like a path to you might be a cliff. Don’t wander off.”
Damn, it could be that intense?
Xin Ci was excited again. Although he followed closely behind them, he occasionally, very carefully, extended his foot to test the ground in the distance, checking if it was solid or empty.
After walking for about fifteen minutes, something seemed to happen. Meng Qianzi stood still and casually pointed to one side. Meng Jinsong, without wasting words, immediately pulled Xin Ci closer and turned off his flashlight.
When the flashlight went out, everything was pitch black. Fortunately, the rain-soaked stone surfaces and leaves had a watery gleam. After adjusting for a while, his eyes could barely make out objects.
Xin Ci saw Meng Qianzi kneeling on one knee, tilting her head as if observing something, slightly swaying the rod in her hand as if weighing it. Then, with a shrug of her shoulders and a graceful flick of her arm, the rod extended with a swishing sound, and the spider flew out along the taut fishing line.
Xin Ci held his breath.
After a few seconds, Meng Qianzi’s voice carried downwind: “Didn’t catch it.”
In this world, most things follow the pattern of having full vigor at first attempt, waning on the second, and exhausting on the third.
After Meng Qianzi’s third unsuccessful attempt, Xin Ci’s concentration as a spectator waned considerably. Like all employees who like to gossip about their bosses behind their backs, he whispered to Meng Jinsong beside him: “Is our Qianzi really up to this?”
Meng Jinsong replied: “Would you like to try instead?”
However, it was evident that Meng Jinsong also felt it unlikely to finish quickly, and his attitude had relaxed slightly. He even took the time to explain things to Xin Ci.
He explained that the Mirage Pearl was colorless and odorless, essentially invisible, but very occasionally, a very thin, crescent-moon-like circle of light would slide across its surface. Mountain Ghosts called it the “sickle light,” though ordinary people’s eyes basically couldn’t see it. Even someone like Meng Qianzi had to observe to confirm their position.
Its material was also very special, similar to a soup dumpling—the wrapper was made of water, impossible to grasp with human hands. It would slip away when grabbed and flee when touched.
In this world, the only thing that could catch the Mirage Pearl was a silk-spinning embrace spider, the one in the glass jar—so it wasn’t bait being thrown out but was meant to embrace and hold the Mirage Pearl.
So that’s how it was. Xin Ci couldn’t help but worry about the embrace spider: “Old Meng, with Qianzi tossing it around like that, hasn’t the spider been thrown unconscious? Why don’t you guys prepare a few more spiders to take turns, instead of torturing just one to death…”
Meng Jinsong found him noisy: “Shut up, don’t disturb Qianzi.”
Speaking so softly, barely a whisper, how could he possibly disturb her? Xin Ci felt sulky, thinking Meng Jinsong was being a complete ass-kisser. By this time, the heavy rain had turned into a drizzle, and the mountains were gradually becoming quiet. Xin Ci found the raincoat stuffy, undid two buttons, and pulled down his hood.
This made the air fresh, his hearing clear, and his vision sharp—it couldn’t be more comfortable. Xin Ci twisted his neck and massaged his shoulders. His gaze inadvertently fell behind him, and his heart suddenly tightened.
Not far behind him, something was crawling toward him, a pitch-black mass. It was as long as a person, and upon closer look, its silhouette also resembled a person.
Xin Ci’s mind went blank, and his hand instinctively pushed, accidentally turning on the flashlight he was holding.
In the beam of light, he saw a woman in a white coat, her face covered in blood, hair disheveled, both hands clawing at the mud as she crawled toward his feet. This was bad enough, but what was more terrifying was that the woman’s neck had been half chopped open, her entire head dangling at a twisted angle, and the wound was still oozing dark brown blood…
This scene completely exceeded his psychological tolerance. Although he was a makeup artist, he specialized in beauty makeup, not ghost makeup. Xin Ci let out a terrible scream and hurriedly backed away. The ground was uneven, and whether he tripped or his legs gave way, he fell on his backside. As he fell, his legs extended forward and, unfortunately, went right to the woman’s mouth. The woman raised one hand, about to grab his leg…
Xin Ci felt his soul leave his body. He supported himself with his hands and desperately scooted backward, the flashlight rolling away, its beam of light sweeping rapidly across the ground.
Meng Qianzi rushed over, but before she could speak, Xin Ci grabbed her leg, pointing at the figure with his other hand, his teeth chattering.
Meng Jinsong hadn’t seen anything but was chilled by Xin Ci’s scream. Seeing his reaction, though, he knew something unusual must be nearby. He turned on his flashlight and shone it in the direction Xin Ci was pointing. Though he was more composed than Xin Ci and had some idea of what to expect, when he suddenly saw the scene, he couldn’t help but exclaim “Holy shit!”
Meng Qianzi made an “Oh” sound and said, “This? I see.”
Her casual tone somewhat eased Xin Ci’s tense nerves. He finally realized his posture was too unmanly and quickly let go: “Huh?”
The woman still maintained her crawling posture, as if stuck, remaining in place without actually advancing.
Meng Jinsong squatted beside the woman, shining his flashlight directly at her head, and looked at Xin Ci: “You may not have seen a Mountain Mirage, but you’ve heard of sea mirages, right? Mirage scenes are fake.”
As he spoke, he reached out and pressed down on the woman’s head. Xin Ci’s scalp tingled, and before he could cry out to stop him, he saw Meng Jinsong’s hand pass through the woman’s head as if through air, pressing directly onto the ground. When he lifted his hand, he deliberately showed it to Xin Ci—a handful of mud.
Xin Ci stammered: “F-fake?”
Meng Jinsong wiped the mud off his hand on a rock: “It’s similar to a holographic projection, deceiving your eyes. If you’re scared, don’t turn on the light. Without light, you won’t see it.”
Collecting the Mirage Pearl was the primary task, and this interlude was quickly over.
Xin Ci moved to the other side of the rock, feeling he had never been so embarrassed in his life. He tried to salvage his dignity: “I wasn’t scared, just caught off guard… it was too sudden.”
Meng Jinsong expressed understanding: “It’s okay, it was quite frightening.”
Xin Ci awkwardly said: “But look at Qianzi, she’s even a woman, yet so calm.”
Meng Jinsong remained silent.
There was no comparison. Meng Qianzi had been specially trained.
The aunties at Mountain Osmanthus Studio believed that the one sitting on the Mountain Ghost King’s throne was the face and spokesperson of the Mountain Ghosts and must have the bearing of a ruler. They must remain composed even with a mountain pressing down on them, showing no fear on their face. Panicking in the face of events would disgrace the thousands of Mountain Ghosts—so they had been harsh, specifically treating her “panic” and “fear.”
So, despite being pampered and indulged, her training had been strict, using extremely abnormal methods: when Meng Qianzi had reached for the switch at her bedside at night, she had felt another person’s hand; when she had reached for toilet paper in the bathroom, she had touched a slippery snake; and she had once found a newborn live mouse under her fried rice…
At first, she had been terrified, screaming and jumping, but this was good—whenever she reacted with panic, one punishment followed another, such as juicing fish mint, mixing small chili peppers with Sichuan peppercorns, or chewing raw pork. The effect was remarkable. Today’s Meng Qianzi lacked the postures of “panic” and “fear.” More precisely, whether she was afraid inside or not was unknown, but her expression and body movements were always serene. Even the most terrifying scenes before her would only elicit an “Oh.”
Seeing Meng Jinsong’s silence, Xin Ci tactfully closed his mouth, but his mind couldn’t settle, continuously replaying the scene of the woman clawing at the ground as she crawled forward. Suddenly, something occurred to him, making his heart race wildly: “Old Meng, someone must have been killed here, right?”
His voice trembled: “A sea mirage reflects scenes from elsewhere, doesn’t it? What we see here is fake, but it’s real somewhere else, right? Is someone… being killed right now?”
He was frightened by his conjecture, goosebumps rising on his arms.
Meng Jinsong was somewhat impatient: “You didn’t read the Mountain Canon entry carefully, did you? Sea mirages involve spatial transference, but Mountain Mirages are temporal. In other words, the scenes in a Mountain Mirage happened right here, but possibly tens or hundreds of years ago. That woman’s white coat with the diagonal buttons dates from before the Liberation—it’s from the past.”
“Here… right here?”
He was standing at a crime scene? A chill ran down Xin Ci’s calves.
Meng Jinsong found him amusing: “Where haven’t people died? Many residential buildings now stand on what were once burial grounds. Western Hunan was called a bandit’s den before Liberation, with countless killings. That woman was probably visiting relatives or going to a market when she encountered bandits.”
No matter what, it was still a vibrant life once. Meng Jinsong’s cold attitude made Xin Ci a bit uncomfortable.
Makeup artists had to be precise with their brushwork, so they were often more sensitive by nature. Xin Ci thought about it again, and melancholy surpassed fear: the mirage scene was so vivid that the naked eye couldn’t distinguish reality from illusion. Recalling the woman’s face, delicate and refined, she didn’t look like a mountain girl but seemed educated. Who knows why she traveled on such a path, only to encounter those murderous bandits, her promising youth cut short. To meet is to be fated, even in such a disconnected encounter—should he buy some incense and paper money to burn for her, also to dispel any ill fortune for himself…
While he was lost in thought, Meng Qianzi’s voice came from a distance: “Got it!”
Meng Jinsong was delighted. With the Mirage Pearl caught, light no longer mattered. He turned on his flashlight and strode over with the glass jar. With the light on, Xin Ci felt less secure and quickly followed.
Meng Qianzi had already untied the fishing line and was holding the iron ring, placing the embrace spider into the glass jar. The spider’s other legs were spread wide, and although there appeared to be nothing between them, its posture indeed looked like it was desperately embracing something. Poor Xin Ci tilted his head, changing angles countless times before convincing himself—perhaps he vaguely, faintly, maybe indeed saw a fleeting “sickle light” slide by.
In reality, the technical difficulty of catching a Mirage Pearl was only moderate. The challenging part was encountering such an opportunity. Additionally, the rain was now lighter, almost like a drizzle. In another moment, the Mountain Mirage would likely disappear. Meng Qianzi’s success at this time was like completing an exam two seconds before the bell—a close call, quite lucky.
Meng Jinsong’s face, usually stern, showed a rare smile: “This is probably the first Mirage Pearl caught by our Mountain Ghosts in nearly two hundred years. When we get back, I’ll contact the Mountain Osmanthus Studio. Your achievement will be recorded in the ‘Mountain Ghost Chronicles.'”
With honor in hand, it was time to be modest. Meng Qianzi seemed indifferent: “Whatever.”
Xin Ci did know about the “Mountain Ghost Chronicles,” which recorded outstanding figures throughout the generations of Mountain Ghosts. Generally, those ranked Mountain Shoulder and above would be recorded, with those sitting on the Mountain Ghost King’s throne being especially highlighted. It seemed that the section about Meng Qianzi would now include the entry “collected Mirage Pearl.” Deng Xiaoping’s saying, “It doesn’t matter whether a cat is black or white, as long as it catches mice, it’s a good cat,” was indeed very true. In the future, people would only know that Meng Qianzi had caught the Mirage Pearl—who would think of her repeated “didn’t catch it”?
Sometimes, the result is indeed more important than the process.
They had a scare but no danger, and they returned victoriously along the same path.
Xin Ci was afraid Meng Qianzi would mention his embarrassing reaction, so he kept talking nonstop, suggesting they reward the embrace spider one moment and then speculating what rewards the aunties might give Meng Qianzi the next. As he got excited, he shook his head and waved his arm, causing his flashlight beam to slant onto the upper part of a Wuling pine.
This tree was quite old, about ten meters tall, with bark cracks as large as palms on the trunk. The trunk was as thick as a washbasin, but not particularly leafy, with many bare and half-broken branches that looked like stakes driven horizontally and vertically into the trunk.
On one of these stake-like branches hung a person, more than a person’s height above the ground. The body faced away from them, swaying gently in the wind.
Xin Ci exclaimed, “Oh my God,” and retreated two steps, his calves trembling.
But he quickly realized this was another mirage scene because the hanging man had a braided queue on his head, a cloth band around his waist, loosely tied trouser legs, and straw sandals on his feet—a queue! Judging by this attire, the era was even older than that of the woman from earlier.
Western Hunan was a bandit den in the past. How many lives must have been lost in these wild mountains?
After realizing this, Xin Ci’s face turned red to his neck: this was the second time, and Meng Jinsong hadn’t even taken a deep breath this time, yet he was still making such a fuss.
Meng Jinsong teased him: “Caught off guard again, huh? I say, to overcome fear, you need to face it head-on. Why don’t you go stand next to him for a bit, like I did earlier? Tap him, pull him a bit, and you won’t be afraid anymore. Let me tell you, this is a rare opportunity. You might only see a Mountain Mirage once in your lifetime… Scared?”
Xin Ci was initially hesitant, but hearing these words, he became interested. Being provoked, his courage rose.
He swallowed hard: as a young man, he should be fearless. Such rare events were once-in-a-lifetime, happening once every two hundred years—he should… experience it firsthand.