It was nearly noon when Bai Shuixiao regained consciousness again. The saying that sleep restores spirit wasn’t false—her face, previously pale as gold paper, now finally showed some signs of life.

Fearing she might lack strength midway through the portrait session, Meng Jinsong had ordered ginseng slices prepared.

Kuang Meiying had always been shy around strangers, and after last night’s fright, she couldn’t handle this situation alone. With Jiang Lian accompanying her into the room, she immediately spotted Meng Qianzi and trembled, instinctively hiding behind Jiang Lian.

Meng Qianzi was irritated, thinking to herself: I’m not some rakshasa or yaksha, is this really necessary?

Her patience wore thin as things progressed. Drawing was already a slow process, and Kuang Meiying had a naturally slow disposition, speaking in a soft, gentle voice. Just for the face shape alone, she drew more than ten versions to give Bai Shuixiao a visual demonstration. She patiently explained that a “feng character-shaped face” had large masseter muscles and broad cheeks, while a “yong character-shaped face” was larger at the bottom than the top, with the jawbone wider than the cheekbones. Why all these obscure explanations? Couldn’t she just say one face looks like the character “feng” and the other like “yong”?

Bai Shuixiao wasn’t helping either. Would she just point to one—feng or yong? One moment she thought this one resembled the attacker, the next moment that one seemed fitting too…

Meng Qianzi, sitting in the corner, grew so annoyed she couldn’t sit still, alternating between supporting her forehead with her left hand, then her right. Knowing her temperament, Meng Jinsong bent down to her ear and said: “Liu Guanguo is preparing the shadow-body for Liu Sheng. Would you like to go take a look?”

That sounded good. Meng Qianzi gestured toward the hospital bed: “Send me the results when they’re done.”

Seeing Meng Qianzi rise to leave, Xin Ci instinctively wanted to follow, but Meng Jinsong blocked his way with an arm: “You’d better not follow.”

Understanding that he, as an outsider, was again deemed “unsuitable,” Xin Ci lowered his head to browse his phone. As he scrolled, his gaze unconsciously drifted back toward the hospital bed.

Coming from a makeup artist background, he paid more attention to “beauty” than ordinary people and had moved beyond the superficial stage earlier. In other words, good-looking people no longer held much attraction for him; he cared more about demeanor and disposition. This Bai Shuixiao, if one examined her appearance closely, was actually on par with Kuang Meiying beside her—both belonged to the category of delicate and pleasant to look at. But that transcendent quality emanating from her instantly made her different, making Kuang Meiying seem ordinary and indistinguishable by comparison.

Strange—he originally had no particular thoughts, but after being nudged by Meng Qianzi and the others, he realized he had been paying excessive attention to her.

Pretending nonchalance, he nudged Meng Jinsong with his elbow and whispered barely audibly: “Hey, Old Meng, do you and Qianzi both know her? You even know about her private life.”

Meng Jinsong glanced at him.

That glance was so meaningful that it made Xin Ci’s scalp tingle, causing him to feel groundlessly guilty, and he awkwardly looked away.

Meng Jinsong’s voice came in a whisper: “Mountain Canon, check ‘falling into cave.'”

Meng Qianzi pushed open the door and entered.

This had originally been a storage room, much smaller than a guest room. Two makeup artists were busily working on a young man sitting in a chair. Liu Guanguo stood nearby, occasionally offering suggestions. A long table in front stood covered with various makeup containers and tools—alcohol adhesive, extension oil, skin wax, degreasing cotton, and countless cosmetics. Among them stood a conspicuous picture frame containing Liu Sheng’s enlarged high-definition portrait. On the wall hung a liquid crystal computer screen playing a loop of Liu Sheng’s daily life footage.

When Meng Qianzi entered, everyone became somewhat uncomfortable, especially the man whose face was half made-up, with one eye shape already altered with adhesive while the other remained normal. He half-rose, seeming reluctant to remain seated.

Meng Qianzi raised her hand in a downward gesture, indicating they should continue with their work and not mind her.

She had intended to move closer to watch, but the room was already small, with many items scattered on the floor, leaving no path, so she simply leaned against the doorframe to observe their work. The video clips playing on the computer were mostly joyful moments. On the screen and in the picture frame, Liu Sheng’s face appeared youthful and vibrant, reminding Meng Qianzi of words often used at memorial services: “The person has departed, but their image and voice remain.”

Sometimes life ends too suddenly, like rushing water that cannot be stopped, leaving only a few droplets of images in the human world.

Liu Guanguo came over and introduced in a low voice: “His name is Wang Qingliang. He and Liu Sheng were already shadow-bodies for each other. He rushed over overnight.”

Shadow-body meant body and shadow. Within the mountain ghost organization, people with similar builds, appearances, and features would be paired as each other’s shadow-body, precisely to handle situations like yesterday’s killing that weren’t suitable for police involvement. After all, this wasn’t an era of wandering swordsmen where you could simply bury the dead and be done with it. The modern household registration system was rigorous, and most mountain dwellers had social occupations. Once something happened, even if the family wanted to conceal it, they couldn’t—work units, schools, organizations, any of them could take the lead in searching.

So when the body goes, the shadow steps in, diluting this abrupt exit into an orderly curtain call. This man called Wang Qingliang would be made to look nearly indistinguishable by the makeup artists, then use Liu Sheng’s name to resign from his position, post WeChat friend circle messages about impending travel or relocation for development, and gradually distance himself from Liu Sheng’s former circles, ultimately completing the total disconnection through a staged accident.

According to custom, body and shadow would communicate regularly, updating each other on their situations, holding nothing back even regarding private matters—they were extremely intimate yet simultaneously distant. The pairs mostly lived in different places and didn’t meet face to face. After all, thinking about doing this for each other inevitably created taboos. Privately, there was always a sense of unpredictable fate: in the future, would he be my shadow, or would I be his?

Liu Guanguo lowered his voice: “Wang Qingliang was tearful earlier, saying he never expected it, it was too sudden. He heard that Bai Shuixiao might have seen the killer and told me that after finishing here, he wanted to meet her to ask about clues.”

Meng Qianzi said, “We’ve already questioned her thoroughly inside and out. Does he think he can extract something new?”

Liu Guanguo nodded hurriedly: “You’re right.”

Unexpectedly, after a while, Meng Qianzi relented: “If he wants to meet her, let him.”

She didn’t have a shadow body—after all, the one sitting on the mountain ghost throne was unique. But ever since first hearing about the existence of “shadow-bodies,” she felt this relationship was both absurd and solid, both romantic and desolate.

By dusk, the repeatedly revised sketch finally earned Bai Shuixiao’s approval.

A perfect reproduction was impossible, but according to Bai Shuixiao, the similarity was over eighty percent.

Meng Jinsong was delighted. After a glance, without time to look closely, he immediately arranged for photocopies. As he left, Xin Ci also found it inappropriate to stay, yet was too embarrassed to speak to Bai Shuixiao. He merely smiled at her. Bai Shuixiao paused momentarily, then returned his smile.

Though her face was pale and her Miao-style bun slightly disheveled, her smile lent her a delicate charm.

How could such a clear-spirited, ethereal woman show any signs of having her soul captured or being insane and foolish? Would she marry some inexplicable… cave?

Xin Ci felt dazed and nearly tripped when leaving the room.

Kuang Meiying had been drawing for so long, even hurrying through lunch. Jiang Lian worried her body couldn’t endure it and feared her legs might be too stiff to stand steadily, so he supported her as she rose: “Not too tired?”

Kuang Meiying looked somewhat bewildered, one hand fidgeting with a button on her clothes, murmuring: “I’ve been feeling strange all day but can’t pinpoint what’s wrong.”

Jiang Lian’s expression changed slightly as he moved closer to Kuang Meiying and lowered his voice: “Is there… something wrong with your body?”

Kuang Meiying quickly shook her head: “No, no, it has nothing to do with me, it’s just…”

She frowned deeply, trying hard to grasp what was bothering her, but couldn’t figure it out. Suddenly, she thought of something else and chuckled: “You know what? That final draft of the mouth shape looked quite like yours.”

Damn, of all people to resemble, it had to be a murder suspect. Jiang Lian looked disgusted: “No way?”

Kuang Meiying gave him a glare: “When I first practiced portraits, how many times did I use you, Wei Biao, and Grandpa as models? Would I make a mistake?”

Just as Jiang Lian was about to say something, Bai Shuixiao suddenly let out a short, low cry from the hospital bed, as if frightened.

Looking back, they saw that a young man had entered the room. Jiang Lian hadn’t seen him before, though there were many people in this building whom he hadn’t met.

This man’s face appeared somewhat stiff, his expressions uncoordinated. Jiang Lian didn’t know this was because Wang Qingliang’s face was thinner than Liu Sheng’s and had silicone adhesive applied. He just felt that such a person appearing abruptly was indeed startling.

Wang Qingliang was quite embarrassed. To avoid affecting his facial makeup, he had to speak while keeping his face tense: “I’m sorry for entering without notice. I’m a mountain dweller, Liu Sheng’s friend. I wanted to chat with you.”

Since this was mountain dweller business, outsiders naturally withdrew. Jiang Lian escorted Kuang Meiying back to their room. As they left, Kuang Meiying frowned and looked back at the room.

There was truly something in that room that made her uncomfortable, but for the moment, she couldn’t place it.

Meng Qianzi held a photocopy of the sketch with one hand, first bringing it close to her eyes, then slowly moving it away. She wanted to squint one eye to see more clearly—then realized she was already one-eyed, and squinting further would render her blind.

The sketch had been made in two copies, showing the head and body outline. Overall, this man appeared to be in his thirties or forties, short and thin, with a crew cut of coarse, stiff stubble, a trapezoidal face with particularly prominent jawbones on both sides, though his eyes and brows were rather properly proportioned.

She pondered for a moment: “I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”

Meng Jinsong said, “Right, I’m also certain I haven’t seen such a person, but for some reason, there’s a familiar feeling. Do you have that too?”

Meng Qianzi nodded: “Indeed, just a bit.”

Really? Xin Ci also picked up a copy, examining it from various angles. As he looked at it without a clue, Meng Qianzi seemed to discover something and nearly laughed out loud.

She covered the lower half of the face with her hand and gestured for Meng Jinsong to help block the man’s forehead: “Cover the eyebrows too. Looking just at the corners of the eyes, thin and long, doesn’t it somewhat resemble Xin Ci?”

Xin Ci never expected to be implicated this way and was exasperated: “What are you talking about? How could that be possible!”

He stared intensely at the man’s eyes, vehemently denying: “It doesn’t look like me at all.”

Meng Qianzi glanced at him askance: “Why so nervous? Even if he looked exactly like you, I wouldn’t suspect you. Your alibi is solid.”

She then asked Meng Jinsong: “Have the electronic versions been sent out?”

“Yes, and I plan to send copies to various friends later. Many hands make light work. If all goes well, we should have some leads in a day or two.”

Kuang Meiying had been drawing all day, and her body couldn’t take it anymore, so she went to bed early.

In the middle of the night, she suddenly awoke.

She had been startled awake by a nightmare. She dreamed she was in that stilted building in Ba Hang Village, helping Jiang Lian paste divine eyes. Everything around was silent—birds weren’t singing, wind wasn’t blowing—the kind of silence where you could hear a pin drop.

Then the door sounded: boom, boom, boom. The sound in the dream was exaggerated, like someone pounding a drum with a pestle. The stilted building seemed like it was made of paper, shaken by the drumming until its supports nearly came apart, dust falling from the walls.

Suspecting Wei Biao was causing trouble and fearing Jiang Lian would be disturbed, she felt both angry and anxious. She ran to open the door, and when she did, a blood-covered corpse fell directly on her.

…

The dream was so vivid that even the smell of blood seemed to linger in her nostrils. Kuang Meiying’s heart pounded violently. She sat up in the darkness, pressing her hand against her chest, breathing in and out continuously, her eardrums swollen from her heartbeat.

She was alone in the room tonight. Jiang Lian was staying next door, and Wei Biao had moved to stay with him.

Kuang Meiying sat for a while, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Once her wildly beating heart had somewhat calmed, she wearily lay back down.

As she reached to pull up the blanket, something suddenly flashed through her mind, and her body abruptly stiffened.

She finally understood what had caused that strange feeling in the medical room during the day.

Bai Shuixiao had a very faint fragrant scent about her, different from any flower or powder fragrance. The medical room had a strong medicinal smell, and the ginseng slices had a special bitter fishy odor, making her scent even fainter when they mixed. While drawing, because she had to constantly ask for confirmation, she had moved close to Bai Shuixiao several times and could detect it.

Each time she smelled it, a sense of bewilderment would surface in her heart, but she couldn’t understand why.

This nightmare reminded her.

When that bloody corpse fell toward her, she was certainly so frightened that everything went black and she fainted, not even seeing the corpse’s face. But her sense of smell outlasted her vision and consciousness by a few seconds.

She remembered that amid the overwhelming smell of blood, there seemed to be a similar… faint sweet fragrance.