With frequent unexpected developments during the trip to Western Hunan, Meng Jinsong had to abandon his initial idea of “operating low-key” and contacted Guishan Zhu of the Greater Wuling area.
The Mountain Ghosts followed a custom of “Zhai, Zhu, She, Chao.”
The headquarters was called Zhai, where the one who sat on the Mountain Ghost throne resided. “Mountain Osmanthus Zhai” was supposedly using a homophone for discretion, but it was practically announcing to the world that it was the “Mountain Ghost Zhai.”
One mountain range had one Zhu. Here, “mountain” referred to a mountain range rather than a peak. “Returning Mountain” (Guishan) used the reversed homophone of Mountain Ghost to indicate its position one level below the Zhai.
She (lodges) were established at mountain peaks, mostly building teahouses or inns for Mountain Dwellers to exchange resources. Liu Guanguo’s “Cloud Dream Peak” was the mountain lodge of Mount Wuling. Starting from the “She” level, names weren’t restricted to include the character “She,” but were required to reflect mountains in some way, so lodge names often contained characters like peak, cliff, cave, or ridge.
The Mountain Ghosts’ homes were called “Chao” (nests) because, in ancient times, those mountain monkeys and wild ghosts in the deep mountains all lived in nests, taking the character “Chao” to remember their origins.
If we were to use people as an analogy, Zhai would be the heart, She the flesh and blood, Chao the skin, and the Zhu below Zhai would be the skeleton that could handle Mountain Dwellers’ births, deaths, illnesses, and support the body to stand: the Mountain Ghosts had abundant financial resources but didn’t keep idle people. In ancient times, the Guishan Zhu hung a “Hundred Trades Chart,” based on the Tang Dynasty’s division of society into 360 trades. The huge chart was filled with black and white figures outlined in ink, such as butchers from the meat trade, masters from the leather trade, craftsmen from the ironware trade, or team leaders from the coroner trade. Once someone entered a trade, they would be colored in, with the standard of evaluation being “all trades occupied, all colors filled, no high or low, no noble or humble, all encompassed.” A Mountain Dweller, from the moment of birth, could draw a substantial monthly “mountain salary,” though this salary was considered a debt. Only after choosing a profession and entering a trade could “previous debts be cleared, and the mountain salary doubled.”
For the manager of a Guishan Zhu, a vacancy in the Hundred Trades Chart was quite “face-losing.” One can imagine how desperately they would plead, “Please, we still need a pig slaughterer in our area, please choose this trade.”
Since they weren’t working for subsistence, Mountain Dwellers who entered trades had the leisure to carefully refine their skills to perfection. For instance, cattle butchers often became like Cook Ding, while chefs were no inferior to Yi Ya. In simple terms, elites emerged in every trade. With such a large group of people available for assignment, it’s not surprising that Guishan Zhu could handle Mountain Dwellers’ births, deaths, illnesses, and disasters. Although in today’s society with its extensive development and refined industries, some fields require highly specialized talent that even the Mountain Ghosts can hardly fully provide, they still manage to handle about 70-80% of needs more or less adequately.
The first reinforcements to arrive at Ba Hang Village were dispatched from the nearby Greater Wuling Guishan Zhu, numbering about thirty people. After examining the scene and tracking clues, several people transported Liu Sheng’s body back to the Zhu for cosmetic restoration and preparation for the subsequent funeral, while others followed Meng Qianzi back to Cloud Dream Peak.
That night, Cloud Dream Peak was brightly lit but filled with complete silence despite being fully occupied.
All the Mountain Dwellers staying there knew the big boss was on the third floor. Suddenly finding themselves in the same lodge as the highest level, they couldn’t help but feel constrained and cautious: footsteps were lightened, even using “tiger pads”; speech was hushed, with gestures replacing sounds whenever possible; bowls and chopsticks were handled gently, as if Cloud Dream Peak were made of playing cards that might collapse at the slightest noise.
This atmosphere even affected Meng Jinsong. When he arranged sentries around the area, he kept his voice down the entire time, feeling like he was committing a theft. Looking down from the top floor, people came and went outside the building, but in eerie silence.
After returning to her room, Meng Qianzi first took a bath.
According to Xin Ci’s idea, a 38° bubble bath was the ultimate stress reliever, but unfortunately, Meng Qianzi emerged as if her bones had been dissolved, listless and weak. After coming out, she leaned against the arhat couch, seemingly glued to it, not moving for a long time, emanating an aura that warned people to keep their distance.
Xin Ci paid no mind to this, busily helping her blow-dry her hair and apply hair oil.
When her hair was half-dry, Xin Ci turned off the hair dryer and comforted her: “Don’t worry, things will eventually become clear. A life for a life—Liu Sheng won’t have died in vain.”
Meng Qianzi remained silent. Even if they discovered the cause of death, Liu Sheng wouldn’t come back. Such a young man, his life so abruptly ended by a small paring knife. What was even more lamentable was that only in death did she learn what he looked like. Before that, to her, he was just a Wuling Mountain Dweller, someone who ran errands and handled tasks.
She murmured, “I still haven’t figured out who has a grudge against us.”
Xin Ci said: “The truth is somewhere out there—you just haven’t found the thread yet.”
Isn’t that stating the obvious? Meng Qianzi was irritated and didn’t bother looking at him.
Xin Ci smiled cheerfully and continued trying to console her.
“Can that Jiang Lian find the golden bell by himself?”
Meng Qianzi snorted: “Who’s relying solely on him? We haven’t stopped our search. I just think he has some skill and brains… might as well use him. He’s an outsider, with a different perspective from ours, so he might discover something we’ve missed.”
“What if he’s being duplicitous, trying to trick us?”
Meng Qianzi gave a light laugh, half-leaning on the low table with her chin in her hand, giving Xin Ci a sidelong glance. “Young man, you’re still quite green.”
Xin Ci was annoyed: “We’re about the same age!”
Meng Qianzi said, “Haven’t you noticed that Jiang Lian has been trying to reason with us all along?”
Yes, and he did so quite logically. Xin Ci thought Jiang Lian was quite composed. In today’s situation, if they had been dealing with someone hot-tempered, inarticulate, or muddle-headed, the confrontation might have had unimaginable consequences.
“He wants to reason when facing problems and can explain his reasoning clearly, which means he’s a reasonable person. And reasonable people have a hurdle they can’t get past.”
Xin Ci was puzzled: “What is it?”
“Reasoning.”
Xin Ci looked completely bewildered. Her repeated use of “reasoning” was more confusing than tongue twisters like “black fertilizer will evaporate.”
Meng Qianzi explained: “Precisely because he’s reasonable, no matter how eloquent or persuasive he is, when it comes to my chain, he’s in the wrong. True, he took it unintentionally and lost it unwittingly, but he did take it, and it was lost while in his possession. So he can only search for it, unless he denies responsibility—but reasonable people can’t shirk responsibility.”
There seemed to be some logic to that. Xin Ci pondered: “But what if he’s incompetent and ultimately can’t help? Will we keep his two friends captive indefinitely?”
Meng Qianzi gave him a sidelong glance: “If he can’t help, am I supposed to keep feeding them for nothing?”
She brushed her long hair behind her ear. Even if Jiang Lian couldn’t recover the golden bell, she probably couldn’t take serious action against him. Intimidation was one thing, but could she kill him? Hardly.
But just “letting it go” was hard to swallow: “When the time comes, I’ll find a way to make him suffer a bit. Otherwise, it would be too easy for him. Even an unintentional mistake is still a mistake—he should pay some price.”
As she spoke, she turned to look at the Mountain Ghost painting on the wall: “Isn’t that right, Grandmother?”
In the ink painting, distant mountains and waterfalls were faintly visible, with a vigorous green pine in the foreground. A magnificent tiger with a “王” (king) mark on its forehead was lying limply on a thick branch, as if resting, with a young woman lounging against its back. She had bare shoulders and feet, with flowing clothes, one hand lazily supporting her chin, a seductive gaze, and a charming smile.
Meng Qianzi gestured to Xin Ci: “See? My grandmother agrees with me.”
Xin Ci felt he had too many complaints and no way to express them. Just as he was feeling vexed, Meng Jinsong pushed open the door, holding an iPad and a stand: “Qianzi, Great Aunt wants to talk to you.”
Great Aunt… Gao Jinghong?
Meng Qianzi suddenly sat up, staring at Meng Jinsong, mouthing the question: “Did you tell her everything?”
Meng Jinsong cleared his throat: “I told her about Liu Sheng’s matter. As for the rest, you can use your judgment.”
From ancient times to the present, matters of life and death have been of paramount importance. In the past, when a Mountain Dweller died violently, the news had to be sent urgently to Mountain Osmanthus Zhai, traveling 800 li. This rule had never changed—at the latest, it couldn’t be delayed overnight.
Such a conversation was one that even Meng Jinsong had no right to overhear. He took Xin Ci out with him.
Meng Qianzi quickly sat upright, smoothing her hair and straightening her clothes before finally setting up the iPad that had been lying face down on the low table.
On the screen, Great Aunt Gao Jinghong was putting down a coffee cup.
She was over seventy-five years old, but because she took good care of herself, she looked only about sixty. Her complexion was rosy, with short silver-gray hair permed into a fluffy, casual style, reminiscent of the hand-pushed wave pattern popular in the Republican era. She wore a well-tailored white round-neck jacket with gold buttons, pearl earrings with gold rings on her earlobes, and a light coral red on her lips.
In front of Great Aunt, it was impossible to be a refined woman. Meng Qianzi gave up trying, instantly relaxing her posture while flattering her: “Great Aunt, you’re so trendy.”
Gao Jinghong smiled lightly, even the crow’s feet around her eyes looking pleasant: “Zi-bao, sit up straight. A young lady shouldn’t have such poor posture.”
Meng Qianzi deliberately slumped even more and glanced at the background behind Gao Jinghong: “Great Aunt, aren’t you at Mountain Osmanthus Zhai?”
“I’m in Shanghai. The Majestic Theater is showing a classic Broadway opera, just for these few days. It would be a pity to miss it.”
Speaking of this, she sighed deeply: “It’s been so many years. My Aunt Duan saw an American film here in the 30th year of the Republic. Later, when she brought me, it had already been renamed Beijing Cinema. Imagine—located in Shanghai, yet bearing Beijing’s name. Now it’s been changed back, with a sign saying ‘Majestic.’ What a pity my Aunt Duan passed away many years ago.”
Meng Qianzi remained silent.
Aunt Duan was Duan Wenxi. Meng Qianzi didn’t know much about her, only that she had never married and had adopted Gao Jinghong as her daughter. Though Gao Jinghong had grown up after the Liberation, because of her foreign-educated adoptive mother, her manner had always been very Western.
Gao Jinghong finally examined her carefully: “Zi-bao, what happened to your eye?”
“I was stung by some fierce insect when entering the mountains. It’s nothing serious, just swollen and unsightly.”
Gao Jinghong smiled: “You child, you must have found it bothersome and didn’t wear your golden bell. The mountains are more dangerous than you think. After all these years, we still haven’t fully understood them—you should wear it; it’s your protective talisman.”
Meng Qianzi was distracted, hesitating whether to reveal everything about the golden bell, when Gao Jinghong spoke again: “I’ve already heard about the violent death of the Wuling Mountain Dweller. Investigate this matter thoroughly. Our Mountain Ghost family doesn’t allow people to bully us.”
Meng Qianzi nodded: “Of course.”
After these words, there was silence for quite a while. Gao Jinghong didn’t speak but didn’t hang up either. Meng Qianzi sensed the atmosphere had become subtle.
After a considerable pause, Gao Jinghong called to her again: “Zi-bao.”
Her tone had gained some gravity, making Meng Qianzi a bit uneasy.
“Actually, during this trip to Shanghai, I also had a medical checkup. During my midday nap, I even dreamed of my Aunt Duan.”
She spoke calmly, with every sentence having deeper implications. Meng Qianzi didn’t ask further—understanding was enough; some things didn’t need to be spelled out.
Gao Jinghong smiled gently: “Your aunts and I have always said that times are good now, peaceful and uneventful. You are the most fortunate among all who have sat on the Mountain Ghost throne. You have everything you want; get whatever you desire. When occasional issues arise, Jinsong handles them without troubling you. You only need to stay there, looking beautiful and spirited. It’s especially like… an emperor who guards his realm, making a brief appearance at court, strolling in the back garden, sheltered from wind and rain, never having suffered…”
Hearing the last sentence, Meng Qianzi’s hand at her side curled slightly, her lips moving faintly as if wanting to say something but then giving up. Finally, she smiled: “So, I’m lucky then.”
Gao Jinghong said, “Yes, I think so too. It’s good this way. If it could continue like this, that would be best. But after this medical checkup, I realized that your aunts will all eventually leave. This farewell has already begun.”
“Zi-bao, I think it’s time for all your aunts to let go and for you to resolve everything yourself. When children face hardships outside, they run back to adults for advice, but no one can guide them forever. Old people serving as handrails—supporting too long, they collapse.”
“Before, we always feared you might make mistakes. Now I’ve changed my perspective: mistakes don’t matter. While your aunts are still here, they can help you mend and guide. There are two paths—right and wrong. As long as it’s not a dead end, you’ll continue forward.”
Meng Qianzi argued: “What if it is a dead end?”
Gao Jinghong said, “You’re now in Western Hunan. Western Hunan has a great writer named Shen Congwen. My Aunt Duan loved reading his books in her later years.”
“He has a saying: ‘A warrior either dies on the battlefield or returns to his homeland.’ I’ve also told your several aunts that we’ve completed our hardships and tasks, and now it’s time to drink tea, watch plays, and live comfortable lives. We can’t worry about everything in this world, even if we lived another hundred years. Now that the baton has been passed, it’s your turn to take the stage.”
“As for the path ahead and how it ends, you have your destiny. We can’t protect you from death or failure by holding on and not letting go—the one who sits on the Mountain Ghost throne cannot be such a timid character.”
Having said this, Gao Jinghong picked up her theater ticket and held it close to the camera: “I’m going to sleep now, to restore my energy so I can enjoy the opera with a fresh spirit.”
After ending the call, Meng Qianzi sat motionless for a good while.
She felt somewhat melancholy about Great Aunt’s implications of impending demise, though those with elderly family members always had some mental preparation for this. She also found it absurd that someone had died here, yet Great Aunt had merely waved her theater ticket, lightly indicating it had nothing to do with her, though on second thought, those with limited time left had the right to be willful.
“A warrior either dies on the battlefield or returns to his homeland”—this phrase seemed apt as a metaphor for life: preparing for battle in youth, going to the battlefield in prime years, and the homeland representing old age. How many people fall on the battlefield, never reaching their homeland?
She wondered if her destiny included a day of returning to her homeland.
After a pause, Meng Qianzi picked up her phone and sent a message to Meng Jinsong.
—Hang the Western Hunan mountain chart in here for me.
Meanwhile, Gao Jinghong put down her theater ticket but didn’t go to sleep. Her hands trembled slightly; after speaking so much, her breathing was a bit uneven.
Liu Sister, who stood beside her, quickly came over to rub her back.
Liu Sister was responsible for taking care of Gao Jinghong’s daily life. When she first started, she truly was a young woman, but now she was of an age to be called an old lady. She didn’t like to dress up or wear fancy clothes, but she always kept herself neat.
Gao Jinghong waved her hand, indicating she was fine, then asked: “Any news from Master Ge?”
Liu Sister put away the stand: “You mean Blind Ge the Elder? No, just know he’s north of the Yangtze River, wandering about. What a pity—with such excellent skills in divination and fortune-telling, yet he lives like a vagrant. Ah…”
She lowered her voice, speaking mysteriously: “I’ve heard that people in their profession, who see through the world’s fate and reveal too many heavenly secrets, often can’t escape the three fates: ‘poverty, short life, and loneliness.’ Doesn’t he have a brother? Blind Ge the Second? I heard he’s not doing well either, went blind early.”
The Ge family had two brothers, Ge the Elder and Ge the Second, who were unique—no, doubly unique—masters of divination and fortune-telling in this world.
This divination referred to the Eight Trigrams of the I Ching. Though complex and profound, there were many experts in the world. Some universities even offered courses specifically studying the I Ching, so the Ge brothers’ knowledge of divination wasn’t particularly rare. What was rare was that pair of eyes that could see people’s destinies.
But as the saying goes, heavenly secrets cannot be revealed. Eyes that saw too much of what they shouldn’t would inevitably be damaged. The Ge family members, once they reached a certain age, generally went blind.
Gao Jinghong sighed: “Ge the Second’s blindness is one thing—I’ve heard that man has evil intentions, doing all sorts of dirty deeds for money. But how can Master Ge the Elder be the same? He couldn’t stand his brother’s ways, so the brothers divided their territories at the Yangtze River—one never entering the south of the river, the other never crossing to the north—never to see each other for life. Besides, Master Ge the Elder went blind because he was reading Zi-bao’s fate! Yet you show such disrespect, casually calling him ‘Blind man’ this and that.”
Liu Sister fell silent. She knew about this incident from years ago.
That year was when Meng Qianzi had her “Mountain Zhouyi” ceremony.
“Zhouyi” (first-year ceremony) is a traditional Chinese custom where, on a child’s first birthday, various objects are placed before them to see what they grab, predicting their future career path. For instance, grabbing a mouse might indicate becoming a programmer, or grabbing a selfie stick could suggest a future in livestreaming.
The Mountain Zhouyi was slightly different, taking place at age three, with “thousands of mountains” laid out—stone blocks taken from hundreds of mountains, carved into egg-sized models, filling the entire room. Mountain Ghosts needed to be close to mountains; whichever one they grabbed would be their destined mountain.
Also, because “at three you can see to eighty,” Master Ge the Elder was invited to read Meng Qianzi’s fate. But unexpectedly, the problem arose precisely in this “fate reading.”
Ge the Elder couldn’t see it.
To be precise, the beginning was fine—childhood would be smooth—but after coming of age, he found it increasingly difficult to see, until finally, he couldn’t see anything at all. In his words, it was as if some mysterious force was hindering him, or perhaps the chasm before him was too vast to cross.
This wasn’t a good omen. Gao Jinghong developed an attitude of concealing illness and avoiding treatment, thinking that not investigating or questioning deeply might mean nothing would happen. She wanted to let it be, but Ge the Elder was in his prime then, full of pride, and wouldn’t accept failure. He locked himself in a room with Meng Qianzi’s belongings on the table—photos, footprints taken soon after birth, papers with her eight characters, hair from infancy…
He stayed locked in for a day and a night, reading her fate the entire time.
The next day, after the banquet ended and guests had left, Liu Sister went to check on Ge the Elder. She knocked but received no answer. Worried something had happened, she used a spare key to open the door and was stunned by what she saw.
Ge the Elder sat withered at the table, having expended who knows how much energy, his cheeks sunken. He stared at her with two lusterless eyeballs. Looking closer, those eyeballs were filled with white opaque films, as if blind.
Liu Sister was frightened out of her wits and stumbled away to find Gao Jinghong. By the time the two returned, Ge the Elder had vanished.
The room was in disarray, with things scattered everywhere and several papers with writing floating about.
Gao Jinghong picked up the one with the most writing. Liu Sister, curious, also came to look.
It was a verse:
Glory before, emptiness after; broken line from branch into vast wilderness.
Mountain can’t become immortal, receives decaying cloth; stone man smiles once, years wither.
Gao Jinghong began to cough. Liu Sister snapped back to reality and hurried to pat her back, bringing water: “Sister Hong, don’t worry too much. Master Ge the Elder’s words just indicated he couldn’t see clearly. That verse—even he couldn’t fully understand what it meant. Things that can’t be seen aren’t necessarily bad; maybe they’re good?”
Gao Jinghong took a sip of water. Her coughing subsided a little, but her face gained a feverish redness from illness. She murmured: “That’s true, but I just feel so anxious, fearing that our Zi-bao… might have an unfortunate destiny.”