Dawn was breaking, but the morning mist still hung thick in the mountains, drifting like gauze, rising and falling. Yet down in a mountain hollow by a small pond, there was an unusual commotion.
The pond wasn’t deep. A small white van lay tilted in the center, its nose submerged. People stood both in the water and along the shore. Some were pulling ropes, others were using pry bars to push against the submerged vehicle, and some were swimming out from beneath it, emerging to splash water from their faces.
Meng Jinsong crouched at the edge of a cliff above, examining tire tracks in the mud. The cliff edge was wet, and the tracks were very clear: the vehicle had lost control here, careening down toward the pond several meters below, where it remained in its upended position until they arrived.
The drop wasn’t steep enough to cause serious damage, and they had already confirmed there was no one inside the vehicle.
Where had everyone gone? Had Bai Shuixiao succeeded, or had Qianzi gained the upper hand? But if Qianzi had prevailed, why hadn’t she tried to contact them?
Meng Jinsong’s brow furrowed deeply. Before, he had only been slightly concerned: at the time, Meng Qianzi had given him a meaningful look, and the kidnapping, in his view, didn’t seem particularly dangerous. It appeared more like her calculated ploy, so he hadn’t rushed to rescue her, preferring to cooperate and observe how things unfolded.
It wasn’t until Liu Guanguo reported that the red dot on the tracking screen hadn’t moved for a long time, and that its location was deep in the mountains far from any villages, that his concern began to ferment into worry.
…
Familiar footsteps approached from behind. Meng Jinsong rubbed his fingers together, blowing away the mud and dust from his fingertips as he stood up. “What’s the situation?”
It was Liu Guanguo who had arrived. After a night of searching, his face was puffy, with dark circles under his eyes. “We’ve searched the surrounding area. We found some footprints in the grass, but they’re of no value—it’s impossible to tell which direction they went.”
Meng Jinsong grunted, gesturing for him to continue.
“Bai Shuixiao has two residences, a house in Longshan County and her family home in Wakuo Village. We checked both places, but found no one. She must have another hideout. We asked the neighbors, but they said they rarely see her and don’t know of any close friends she might have.”
This was as expected; Bai Shuixiao was a cunning person.
Meng Jinsong felt irritated. “Nothing else? The person we invited to our table, and that’s all we know about her?”
Liu Guanguo’s face flushed, finding it difficult to speak.
The Cave Fallen Woman was somewhat unique, unlike the wandering mystics or the Chen sect with their grand factions. In essence, she was just a lonely, simple-minded woman who had received the blessing of the cave spirit and possessed abilities beyond ordinary people. She avoided social interactions and preferred the mountains and forests. Meng Qianzi’s banquet had been comprehensive, inviting anyone with a hint of the extraordinary—even Old Ga, who merely made masks for Nuo operas, had been given a seat.
Who could have imagined the intrigue behind her?
Meng Jinsong realized his words were inappropriate and carried a tone of blame, but his pride prevented him from softening his approach with Liu Guanguo. Instead, he turned his head away, just in time to see a vehicle speeding toward them from a distance.
At first, he thought it was just a passing car stopping to look at the commotion, but when two people hurriedly got out and Liu Guanguo rushed to meet them, he realized they were also from the Mountain Ghost organization.
Looking more closely at their faces, they seemed somewhat familiar. After a moment’s thought, he recognized them: Shen Wangu and Shen Bang. Weren’t they supposed to be taking that somewhat crazy middle-aged man sightseeing?
Speak of the devil: the door of the back seat opened, and half a body emerged, looking around curiously—it was none other than Shen Gun.
Meng Jinsong found this man rather annoying, like a piece of sticky glue impossible to shake off and always in the way. But he couldn’t disregard the respect due to Seventh Aunt, so when their eyes met, he smiled politely.
Unexpectedly, that smile seemed to give the middle-aged man courage. After a while, Shen Gun came trotting over: “I hear Miss Meng was kidnapped by a cave-fallen woman?”
What kidnapping! These subordinates always exaggerated, spreading distorted stories. Meng Jinsong was displeased but didn’t show it. “Qianzi went with that woman voluntarily. She had her plans.”
Shen Gun looked concerned: “I heard you can’t find that Bai what… Water?”
Wasn’t he being a bit too familiar, asking all these questions? Meng Jinsong was impatient: “Mm.”
“Is that Bai something Water, a cave-fallen woman? Not a fake?”
Could there even be fakes? Meng Jinsong was momentarily stumped by the question. Fortunately, Liu Guanguo and the others approached just then, overhearing the conversation, and answered for him: “She shouldn’t be fake. Bai Shuixiao has been cave-falling for several years now. Everyone in Wakuo Village knows about it.”
Shen Gun hummed thoughtfully: “And where is this cave she fell into?”
This Shen Gun seemed to ask questions with a certain logic. Meng Jinsong’s interest was piqued: “Is that important?”
Shen Gun gave him a withering look: “Of course it’s important, you fool. Do you understand anything about cave-falling?”
Beside them, Shen Wangu startled, quickly tugging at Shen Gun’s sleeve: “Uncle Gun, you need to… be more polite when speaking to Assistant Meng.”
In front of Meng Jinsong and Liu Guanguo, Shen Wangu didn’t dare call him “Master Gun,” fearing rebuke: Who are you calling master? Can a Mountain Ghost call someone else master?
On any other day, Meng Jinsong would have lost his temper at such rudeness, but there was no point in arguing with someone as erratic as Shen Gun. His tone softened instead: “Mr. Shen… you’re knowledgeable about cave-falling?”
Shen Gun showed off: “I’ve been to Western Hunan many times. I’ve seen cave-fallen women, and I’ve even seen Miao shamans retrieve souls from cave spirits. Have you seen that?”
The last question was directed at the two Shens, who shook their heads vigorously.
Shen Gun grew more enthusiastic: “Soul retrieval requires force. They take a stick, pound and chisel the ground, beat the cave walls, and chant incantations: ‘Soul-snatchers, retreat from the great wells and small wells, large caves and small caves, big ditches and small ditches… We will punish you, we will not let you rest…'”
He faltered halfway through, sighing deeply: “No good, my memory isn’t what it used to be. That’s why a bad memory is no match for good notes. Luckily, I wrote it down in my notebook—it’s a long passage. I’ll look it up when I get back.”
Meng Jinsong was secretly pleased. The Mountain Ghosts knew very little about cave-falling, recycling the same few lines found everywhere on Baidu Encyclopedia. But Shen Gun’s words had a certain professional quality to them. He became increasingly courteous: “Why do you think Bai Shuixiao’s cave is so important?”
Shen Gun replied: “Isn’t it obvious? If she’s a genuine cave-fallen woman, then everything she does is at the cave spirit’s direction. Do you know what ‘cave-falling’ is called in the Miao language?”
Guessing that none of them knew, Shen Gun made a “two” gesture with his hand: “There are two terms. One is ‘bia,’ the meaning is straightforward—the soul has fallen into a cave. The other is ‘zhua ding pa lue,’ which has a deeper meaning, representing heaven collapsing and earth splitting.”
After this explanation, Meng Jinsong remained composed, but Liu Guanguo and the others looked completely bewildered. Shen Gun sighed, finding it exhausting to communicate with such uncultured people: “This ‘heaven collapsing and earth splitting’ means that a person has entered another world. Think about it—if heaven has collapsed, it’s no longer the same heaven; if the earth has split and you’ve fallen through, is your world still the same?”
Shen Bang scratched his head: “In the broader sense, the world is still the same world, but in the narrower sense, from an individual perspective, the immediate world around you has indeed changed.”
Ignoring the broader and narrower interpretations, Shen Gun continued eloquently: “But cave-falling doesn’t involve the body—it’s the soul, the spirit that falls. So ‘zhua ding pa lue’ represents the soul falling into another world. Communication with normal people becomes very difficult. She communicates with other forces—forces that ordinary people can’t see, touch, or access.”
Liu Guanguo listened, stunned: According to legend, these cave-fallen women had indeed been difficult to communicate with, often talking to themselves, crying and laughing unpredictably, immersed in their own worlds with no way out. To outsiders, they appeared to have lost their souls and spirits, or, more bluntly, gone mad or become deranged.
Were they communicating with some invisible force? Liu Guanguo’s hair stood on end. He glanced around, feeling as if a cold, ghostly presence was about to settle on him.
Meng Jinsong remained impassive: “You’re saying Bai Shuixiao is directed by some strange force… this cave spirit?”
Shen Gun spread his hands: “I didn’t say that! Let’s be precise. I only said that if Bai Shuixiao isn’t an impostor, if she’s a genuine cave-fallen woman, then everything she does is for the cave spirit, nothing else. Because other people mean absolutely nothing to her; even if the Jade Emperor himself ordered her to do something, she wouldn’t pay any attention.”
After a pause, he added: “Also, ‘cave spirit’ is just a conventional term. Miao people are different from Han people. In their culture, there’s no clear distinction between gods and demons. Whether it’s gods, ancestral spirits, or demons—as long as something possesses supernatural power, regardless of its holiness, they call it a ‘spirit.’ So the cave spirit isn’t the kind of deity you’re thinking of. You could just as well call it a cave demon. Anyway… It’s a force they don’t understand and prefer to respect from a distance.”
How to put it? When pushed to the limit, they might dare to challenge or fight it. Only when defeated would they bow their heads and accept their fate. In any case, they were different from Han people: in Han culture, people worshipped the Earth God and the City God, but you never saw them forming groups armed with knives and sticks looking for a fight.
Shen Gun became slightly distracted: Hmm, this Miao’s understanding of spirits and demons… interesting, quite interesting.
At the first cock’s crow, Meng Qianzi awoke, though she couldn’t open her eyes. Her limbs were bound and numb, her body heavy, and her head incredibly weighty.
She figured the drug’s effects hadn’t worn off yet, so she kept her eyes closed, regulating her breathing while listening to the sounds inside and outside the room. Her intuition told her this was a remote mountain village, as she heard no car engines, phone rings, or even television sounds for a long time. Instead, there were constant sounds of chickens crowing, cattle bellowing, and chopping and hammering. Occasionally, people would speak loudly, but with such a strong accent—possibly a local dialect—that she couldn’t understand a word.
After a while, she could barely open her eyes and saw that she was in a storage room, cramped and dilapidated, but extraordinarily clean in the gradually brightening light.
There was no one in the room, which gave her temporary relief. After a moment, she felt that lying sprawled out like this lacked dignity and was beneath her status. As her aunt had taught her, “Even in death, maintain the bearing of royalty.” So, with great effort, she slowly moved her body to a sitting position.
Once seated, she sighed: Putting oneself in danger involved significant variables. Although she had cooperated with the kidnapping, the initiative had slipped away from her. Should she make a big move now?
No, don’t show your hand until you see the rabbit. The mastermind hadn’t yet shown themselves—who would she be showing off to?
She considered her predicament further: They probably wouldn’t kill her—if that had been the plan, they would have done it last night. But whether she would suffer was another question. Perhaps she would be beaten…
Meng Qianzi frowned deeply. Her intuition told her that physical suffering was inevitable. Given her status and face, she couldn’t show weakness or beg for mercy; she could only endure. This was the loneliness of high positions—just as in ancient times, when a country fell, common people could flee or surrender, but the aristocracy could only die for their country. Even if they surrendered, countless people would point fingers at their backs.
…
As these thoughts swirled, she heard the door. The confrontation was imminent. Meng Qianzi sat up straight, trying her best not to appear too disheveled.
The padlock fell, and the creaking wooden door opened. The threshold was filled with the white brightness of dawn. The contrast between the bright exterior and dim interior made it difficult for Meng Qianzi to adjust her eyes at first; she could only see two figures, one tall and one short.
The tall one was probably Bai Shuixiao, so the shorter one…
She instinctively felt this must be the mastermind behind everything. Ignoring how the morning light hurt her eyes, she stared intently until she could make out an old woman of about sixty. The woman’s life had not been easy—she wore a blue cloth jacket and square-toed cloth shoes, both washed to paleness. She had a harsh face, with a ruthlessness in her features that immediately identified her as the type of rural woman who was not to be trifled with, whom all neighbors would give a wide berth.
The woman carried a glossy black jar with a small mouth, large belly, and tightly sealed opening. An ordinary person might have thought it contained pickled vegetables or sour soup, but Meng Qianzi wouldn’t make such an assumption. Connecting the dots, her heart skipped a beat, and she blurted out: “Are you a Grass Ghost Woman?”
“Grass Ghost Woman” was the local term for a “Gu Poisoner.” Legend had it that families who raised Gu were exceptionally clean because Gu worms detested filth. Thus, the simplest, most basic method to expel Gu was to release excrement and urine, using the filth to force the Gu worms to leave the body.
At Meng Qianzi’s recent banquet, all those connected to Gu poisoners “accepted gifts but declined invitations,” because Gu poisoners feared their identities being exposed. If neighbors knew you raised Gu, how anxiously would you have to live? If you were ever set up, it would be a fate worse than death. Weighing the options, people would rather deal with corpse-herders than live next door to a Grass Ghost Woman.
The woman smiled, a hint of satisfaction in her eyes, clearly confirming the accusation.
Meng Qianzi smiled too, inwardly cursing: The gifts she had sent out had truly been wasted, like feeding a dog.