There was no rain today, but last night’s downpour still left its mark. Walking along secluded paths meant not only muddy feet but also occasional drops falling from the high tree canopies. After more than an hour of walking, they might as well have been caught in the rain.

Old Ga stopped and pushed aside some dense branches in front of him.

From this angle, they could see Baweng Village down in the mountain hollow. It was dusk, and steam rose from the mountains. Looking down, clusters of white mist hovered above the treetops and clung to the backs of houses, giving off an eerie stillness with a strange, quiet beauty.

Old Ga pointed in one direction: “There, that one with lights on the second and third floors. The people should all be there.”

Good that they were all there. Meng Qianzi couldn’t be bothered to look—she had plenty of eyes to do that for her. She sat down on a damp stone and patiently used two leaves to clean the mud from her boots. Xin Ci quickly pulled out tissues to help.

Meng Jinsong frowned as he observed the lights in the stilt house. It was too far to see clearly what was happening inside, and even with binoculars, closed windows and drawn curtains would block the view. Lights on didn’t guarantee people were inside—what if they had gone out? Charging in with great fanfare might alert them and scare them off.

Liu Guanguo had the same thought: “Should we have Liu Sheng scout ahead first?”

For this mission, he had left Shen Bang and Shen Wangu behind to keep Shen Gun occupied and brought Liu Sheng and Qiu Dong along. Of the two, Qiu Dong was steady, while Liu Sheng was resourceful and better at reconnaissance.

Meng Jinsong looked back at Meng Qianzi for instructions, but her gaze fell on Old Ga, who stood with his hands at his sides: “If it comes to fighting… with your relatives, how forceful can we be?”

Even when that talisman pattern was right in front of her eyes, Meng Qianzi hadn’t recognized it. But since Xin Ci was so certain, it was likely correct. She immediately had Liu Guanguo bring Old Ga over.

Old Ga didn’t hide anything and honestly recounted what had happened.

About a month ago, two men and a woman came to Baweng Village, seeking him out directly and claiming to be relatives from his Fourth Great-Uncle’s side.

Old Ga did indeed have a Fourth Great-Uncle who had left Baweng Village before Old Ga’s father had even found a wife. Before liberation, Baweng Village had been home to several hundred people. But life in the mountains was hard, and with natural disasters and wars, villagers had left in waves to seek better lives—some went to provincial cities, some headed south, and others went overseas. Those who found success settled elsewhere; those who didn’t might have perished far from home. Either way, few returned and even fewer sent news back. How could he know whom his Fourth Great-Uncle had married, whom he had fathered, and how many in-laws had branched out from there?

As a solitary old man, he thought it unlikely that these people would travel so far just to deceive him. Besides, all three were presentable and polite, speaking knowledgeably about past generations, many things that Old Ga himself couldn’t even recount.

So, they were probably genuinely distant relatives.

According to them, although the old man was buried elsewhere, he had always longed for his homeland. They had come to stay for a while, to explore the mountains and waters on behalf of the old man, to take some photos and collect some old items to fulfill the deceased’s wishes.

Well, it sounded plausible. After all, he was a wanderer who couldn’t return home even in death—such a wish was understandable. Moreover, the three voluntarily paid for food and lodging, making the whole affair seem even more reasonable. If Old Ga had remained suspicious, he would have seemed petty and narrow-minded.

Among the three, the oldest man was called Wei Biao, in his early thirties, tall and robust. He was decent enough, just a bit fierce-looking—he always seemed angry with someone. The other man, Jiang Lian, was his opposite—always smiling, gentle, and polite. The youngest was the woman, Kuang Meiying, only twenty-three or twenty-four, delicate and quiet. She was quite artistic, often playing with her camera, taking photos, or setting up an easel to paint landscapes. Her health wasn’t good, though—she frequently felt unwell and would sleep during the day to recuperate. Whenever she slept, Wei Biao would come downstairs to remind Old Ga to “keep it down,” forcing Old Ga to cut his cured meat by carefully drawing the knife back and forth like a small saw.

After living together for some time, Old Ga noticed two peculiar things.

First, he couldn’t figure out who the leader was among these three.

Logic suggested it should be Wei Biao, the oldest and most imposing. Yet he was completely compliant with Kuang Meiying, speaking and acting with great caution around her. This caution, in Old Ga’s perception, wasn’t entirely the kind a man shows when trying to please a woman.

So was it Kuang Meiying? That didn’t seem right either. In front of Jiang Lian, she appeared to follow his every word. Occasionally, she would be stubborn, but Jiang Lian could always resolve it with just a few words.

Yet Wei Biao didn’t respect Jiang Lian and often mocked him with sarcasm. Jiang Lian would always simply smile and accept it, never retaliating.

These three formed a strange closed loop, each seeming to defer to another.

Second, Jiang Lian would always go out during heavy rainy nights.

It was the rainy season in the mountains, with rain often falling at night, especially in the early evening. Every few days, there would be a downpour. To put it bluntly, even if you chased a dog with a stick, it wouldn’t want to leave its den in such weather, let alone a person. What compelled Jiang Lian to venture out during the fiercest storms? If he had money buried in the mountains, wouldn’t he dig it up on a clear, dry day?

Moreover, twice Old Ga had heard movements and secretly peeked through the window crack, seeing Jiang Lian carrying a large black backpack—so big it could fit a person inside.

Fortunately, Old Ga was naturally uncurious: whatever. As long as these questionable relatives paid for their room and board on time, caused no trouble, and didn’t implicate him, what did their business matter? They would stay at most another month or two before leaving, and then bridges would be bridges, roads would be roads—everyone would go their separate ways. Just because bridges and roads occasionally intersect, one doesn’t need to explore how long the bridge is or how far the road extends. How exhausting would that be?

He just hadn’t expected that things would come to a head so quickly. When the mountain dwellers came looking for that talisman pattern, he knew these three were in big trouble.

This Miss Meng from the mountain dwellers’ family was only being polite. How forceful could they be? It wasn’t his place to give an opinion.

Old Ga’s face was wooden: “On one side are distant relatives, on the other are good friends. I can’t mediate, and it’s not appropriate for me to take sides. You do your business; I won’t watch the commotion or listen to anything. Just let me know when I can return to my house.”

After speaking, he walked about thirty paces away, found a rock to sit on with his back to them, and after a while, white smoke drifted from his face—he had lit a pipe of local tobacco.

Meng Qianzi smiled: “This old man is quite interesting.”

Then she nodded: “One person scouts, two people flank.”

Although these words weren’t directed specifically at him, they were still an indirect order. Receiving a boss’s instructions for the first time in his life, Liu Sheng felt nervous. He quickly put on a blue cloth jacket commonly worn by mountain people, messed up his hair with his hands, rolled up his pant legs, and smeared some mud on them. Only then did he pick up his basket and, coughing, walk down the small path toward the village.

Liu Guanguo and Qiu Dong quickly dove into the dense forests on both sides, climbing trees like monkeys, then very carefully leaping from one high branch to another. They moved while adjusting their positions, trying to form a large triangle with the advancing Liu Sheng, placing the stilt house at the center. This way, they could both keep watch and adjust the size of their encirclement at any time, killing two birds with one stone.

Xin Ci only regretted not having the skills to join them. He looked up at the rustling leaves high above as they moved away, imagining the upcoming capture scene. He was so excited his voice changed: “Qianzi, if we really catch that Jiang Lian, are you going to flay him alive?”

Meng Qianzi picked up a small stone, carefully brushing away the mud from its edges. A small puddle had formed at her feet, clearly reflecting her face with the eye patch. She glanced at it a couple of times, actually finding her one-eyed appearance quite attractive.

Xin Ci looked back at her: “Qianzi?”

Meng Qianzi disturbed the puddle with the toe of her boot: “It’s no big deal. People should be forgiving. Don’t always talk about flaying and killing.”

Meng Jinsong’s mouth twitched upon hearing this: she, forgiving? It’s worth noting that Meng Qianzi’s social media account was named “×2” (multiply by 2). When they were children, if Meng Jinsong knocked over her ice cream, he had to replace it with two cups; otherwise, she would cover his toilet seat with threatening messages written in red pen. Come to think of it, Meng Qianzi truly had a talent for loan sharking and debt collection.

Meanwhile, Liu Sheng had entered the lower hollow, picking flowers and tree branches as he walked and tucking them into his basket, displaying the leisurely manner of a mountain dweller.

As he approached the stilt house, he raised his voice and called out: “Uncle Ga, Old Uncle Ga, are you home? It’s me!”

After just a couple of shouts, someone peered out from the third floor, gesturing downward, seemingly asking Liu Sheng to lower his voice. Meng Jinsong lowered his binoculars, having seen enough, and said: “Wei Biao is there.”

Meng Qianzi responded with an “mm” and used the stone to draw a horizontal line on the ground.

One.

Liu Sheng saw Wei Biao make the gesture and then turn away, knowing he was coming downstairs. So he stood there waiting, pretending to scratch his head and look around with confusion.

Wei Biao came down quickly but stepped lightly. Normally, the wooden planks of old stilt houses would creak loudly when stepped on, but as he descended, Liu Sheng heard almost no significant wood noises. This put him on alert: this man might look rough, but his movements suggested skill—he would need to be clever rather than relying on brute force.

However, he showed none of this concern and instead peered behind Wei Biao: “Where’s my Uncle Ga…?”

His voice was a bit loud, and Wei Biao anxiously raised his index finger to shush him: “Quiet, keep it down.”

Liu Sheng looked puzzled, and Wei Biao explained somewhat awkwardly: “My sister is sick and sleeping. I don’t want to disturb her.”

So the one called Kuang Meiying was also there. Liu Sheng’s palms began to sweat. Before departure, Liu Guanguo had instructed that they were looking for something important—first, confirm all three people were present, then subdue them one by one in the most efficient way. With the people in place and the house secure, searching for the item would be easier.

He obediently lowered his voice: “Where’s my Uncle Ga? He promised to show me how ghost masks smoke.”

Old Ga was a Nuo mask craftsman with ancestral skills in carving ritual masks. The people of Western Hunan often called Nuo masks “ghost face shells.” The so-called “ghost face shell smoking” involved collecting wood shavings carved from making the masks into a basin and lighting them. When smoke rose, the mask would be held over it to be smoked repeatedly. Supposedly, this not only prevented decay but also made the carved features more lifelike, as if they were alive. Some outsiders jokingly referred to this as “boiling beans with bean stalks”—you carve me up as waste material, then burn me to smoke the mask. We came from the same root, yet the class difference and mutual destruction seemed too extreme.

Wei Biao knew nothing about ghost face shell smoking and had no interest in learning. He just wanted to send him away quickly: “Someone invited him to dinner in the county town. Didn’t he tell you?”

Liu Sheng made an “oh” sound, furrowing his brow as if trying to recall if this was mentioned, then looked Wei Biao up and down: “I remember now. You must be the city relatives Uncle Ga mentioned?”

Wei Biao didn’t know Liu Sheng’s background, but hearing him repeatedly call “Uncle Ga” and knowing about the “city relatives,” he assumed Liu Sheng must be an acquaintance of Old Ga’s, so he nodded.

Liu Sheng’s face broke into a broad smile, displaying mountain hospitality to the extreme, asking about health and various details, occasionally playing dumb to appear simple and unsophisticated. Finally, he looked around again: “Weren’t there three relatives? Where’s the other young man? Gone hiking in the forest?”

He showed great concern: “The forest isn’t peaceful these days. I’ve heard there are even Ma Biaozi around—even tigers fear those creatures.”

Wei Biao was thoroughly annoyed but couldn’t show it: “No, he’s… sleeping too.”

Liu Sheng couldn’t help glancing at the lights on the second floor. Old Ga had mentioned that Jiang Lian stayed on the second floor. How strange—it wasn’t even fully dark yet, and they were all sleeping with the lights on.

Could they be vampires who couldn’t face daylight?