However, between people, there are differences in aura and presence. Meng Qianzi sensed intuitively that this Gu Poisoner was subordinate to Bai Shuixiao. To call her the mastermind was giving her too much credit.
She looked back at Bai Shuixiao: “Ma Biaozi’s scratch marks couldn’t have been faked, but those knife wounds… You inflicted those on yourself, didn’t you?”
Bai Shuixiao was forthright: “That’s right. I had bad luck that day. I managed to avoid the Mountain Ghosts’ search but ran into a pack of Ma Biaozi. I had no choice but to climb a tree to escape. Who would have thought that nosy Jiang Lian would come looking for me?”
One way or another, she would have been discovered, and once discovered, it would be hard to clear the suspicion. So she made a desperate move and gave herself two knife wounds. It was lucky too: during transport, all her wounds bled to some degree. A knowledgeable doctor could have determined the age of the wounds, but Jiang Lian wasn’t that professional. Besides, by the time she was brought to Yunmeng Peak, nearly a whole night had passed, and even fresh wounds would have seemed old by then. Heaven also favored her—soon after Jiang Lian rescued her, it began to rain. The heavy rain washed away all traces, leaving nothing to investigate.
Meng Qianzi struggled a bit against her bonds, to remind Bai Shuixiao that she had no strength to break free: “Since I’m in your hands now anyway, be straightforward with me. What are you after with all this scheming?”
Bai Shuixiao crouched down, bringing her eyes level with Meng Qianzi’s: “First, tell me why you came to Western Hunan?”
Meng Qianzi felt a spark of realization, remembering the slender, luminous red verse beneath the flames of the recognition chart’s fiery eye.
Could all of this be about the Mountain Gall?
She deliberately steered the conversation elsewhere: “Western Hunan has Mountain Ghost’s Guishan Stronghold. As the family head, I came to check on it, to maintain relations and communicate with my subordinates. Has that interfered with your business?”
Bai Shuixiao stared at her for a while, then forced words through clenched teeth: “You’re lying.”
So she did know something. Meng Qianzi smiled radiantly: “I have property and business here. Coming to review my assets is also lying? Then you tell me, what did I come here for?”
But Bai Shuixiao didn’t take the bait, answering enigmatically: “You’ll tell me.”
With that, she stepped back. As if pre-arranged, the woman holding the jar stepped forward, crouched down, and solemnly placed the jar on the ground. She wiped her hands on her sides before opening the jar.
Perhaps to create psychological pressure, she moved very slowly, first untying the cloth, then gradually turning the lid.
Meng Qianzi snorted impatiently: “Stop with the theatrics. We’re all professionals here—who doesn’t know what’s what? No matter how slowly you open it, a dragon won’t fly out of that jar. Get on with it. Why split one breath into two?”
The woman blushed with embarrassment at Meng Qianzi’s words, clearly annoyed, but her movements did indeed quicken.
When the jar’s lid was removed, there was silence at first. By coincidence, the outside also fell quiet for a moment. Perhaps the sun had risen higher, the chickens had rested, and the cattle had gone to the fields. Only the sound of silverwork hammering remained, an occasional beat, then another, quite rhythmically.
The three people in the room, without coordination, all held their breath.
From inside the jar came faint rustling sounds, like dense, tiny claws scratching against the inner walls. Then, a bright copper-colored insect head peeked cautiously over the rim of the jar. Whether human or insect heads, they all maintain certain proportions with their bodies. This insect, judging by its head, wasn’t large—”small but ferocious,” fitting the description of a Gu worm. Professionals knew that Gu were created by placing multiple poisonous insects in a jar, forcing them to fight and devour each other, with the survivor becoming the Gu.
After this day-and-night brutal battle, the final Gu’s appearance was vastly different from how it began. Even Meng Qianzi couldn’t identify exactly what this creature crawling up the jar’s rim was: its length and legs resembled a centipede, its form like a plump, soft earthworm. Its two eyes were only the size of elongated, flattened sesame seeds. When it opened its mouth, the upper and lower rows of teeth appeared like rows of needle tips.
Meng Qianzi coldly watched as the insect crawled down the outside of the jar, leaving a faint but glistening trail of slime wherever it passed.
The woman glanced sideways at Meng Qianzi with a half-smile: “Since Miss Meng is knowledgeable, I won’t waste words. There are two ways to use Gu: covert and overt. With covert Gu, you’d visit me, eat my food, drink my tea, and before you even realized it, the Gu would have entered your body. With overt Gu, it’s open and undisguised—Sister Bai said Miss Meng is a person of status, so we should show respect, and do it properly, openly.”
Meng Qianzi replied: “For someone who claims not to waste words, you’ve said quite a lot. When you start talking, does it cost lives?”
Each time the woman tried to show off her skills, she was cut short by Meng Qianzi. Growing increasingly irritated, she was about to speak when Bai Shuixiao intervened: “Tian Yapo, why waste words on her? When this is over, she’ll be nothing but straw—you can weave her however you want.”
Tian Yapo suppressed her anger and pulled a bright green leaf from her sleeve. It resembled a bamboo leaf but was thicker, with a glossy surface on both sides. She placed the leaf between her lips and began moving her teeth, gnawing and grinding, creating a small, uncomfortable sound. At first hearing, it seemed quite similar to the earlier sound of the insect’s claws scratching inside the jar.
Strangely enough, the insect, which had been curled at the bottom edge of the jar, stretching as if yawning, suddenly found direction when this sound began. It turned its head and body, crawling toward Meng Qianzi.
This must be an insect whistle.
Meng Qianzi ignored Bai Shuixiao and Tian Yapo completely, addressing the Gu worm directly: “You come when called? Don’t you want to live anymore?”
The insect whistle continued, the creature’s body leaving an increasingly long trail behind it. Bai Shuixiao’s lips curled in a contemptuous smile.
Meng Qianzi didn’t give up: “Do you know who I am? Do you dare to bite me?”
Bai Shuixiao found her irritating: “Miss Meng, save your breath. Beasts don’t understand human language, nor do they know that you’re rich and powerful.”
No sooner had she spoken than Meng Qianzi’s expression darkened. Her smile disappeared as she raised her eyes coldly and said, “That’s not necessarily true. I think sometimes beasts have more sense than certain people.”
As she spoke, she ground her teeth against her lip, then spat out a bloody glob of saliva, which landed right in front of the insect’s face. A few droplets even splashed onto the creature’s body.
The insect froze instantly.
Tian Yapo paused in surprise, stopping her whistle. Just as she moved forward to look, the insect suddenly arched its body like an earthworm, then stood upright, much like the literary description of “jumping up in extreme fright.” Unfortunately, standing upright wasn’t its forte. The next second, it toppled over, belly up, with more than ten legs flailing wildly in the air.
This flailing didn’t last long. The insect quickly flipped over, frantically exploring in all directions like a headless fly. Meng Qianzi’s “forward” direction had become forbidden territory, and the left and right didn’t seem safe either. Finally, it turned around in place and raced back toward the jar, moving as if each leg had wheels of wind and fire, scraping and scurrying without pause, instantly climbing back into the jar.
Everything happened so quickly—or rather, the insect retreated so decisively—that Tian Yapo couldn’t react in time. When she finally realized what had happened, she rushed to the jar, first patting its sides, then grabbing the rim and shaking it continuously, calling in a low voice: “Xiao Liang! Xiao Liang!”
The relationship between a Gu Poisoner and her Gu worms was intimate yet mysterious. To strengthen their connection, many Gu Poisoners named their worms, with names like “Flower” or “Iron Head.”
Meng Qianzi feigned surprise: “Oh, so it can crawl that fast? It was moving so slowly before—who was it putting on a show for? Indeed, pets resemble their owners… If I hadn’t shown some vibrant colors, you might have thought I was black and white.”
Tian Yapo was both angry and anxious: “What did you do?!”
Meng Qianzi gave a cold laugh without answering.
Fearing for her hard-earned Gu worm, Tian Yapo reached out in panic to grab Meng Qianzi’s shoulder: “I’m asking you a question. Are you deaf…?”
As soon as her hand touched Meng Qianzi’s clothes, something like electricity flashed in Meng’s eyes. Her gaze turned extraordinarily sharp as she fiercely responded: “This is mountain territory, where Mountain Ghosts rule! Even a worm knows not to provoke me. What are you? Whose dog’s gall did you swallow that you dare to come after me!”
Though Tian Yapo was indeed harsh and vicious, she was also a bully who feared the strong. When Meng Qianzi’s fiery temper flared, she inwardly cowered. Her hand froze in mid-air, not daring to touch Meng’s shoulder.
Meng Qianzi had thrown caution to the wind—cursing one person was the same as cursing two. While her emotions were high, she might as well vent completely.
She turned to Bai Shuixiao: “And you, I don’t care who you are, or whether you’ve married a cave spirit or a cave demon. I’m just warning you: whatever I suffer here, you’ll suffer more. If you harm or maim me, if I die, you’ll have to follow me to the grave, including everyone in your household, your cats and dogs…”
At this point, she glanced seemingly casually at Tian Yapo: “…and whatever Xiao Liang, Xiao Hei, Xiao Hua, or Xiao Guo you have—none will escape.”
Tian Yapo’s face paled further.
Bai Shuixiao, however, remained composed. Meng Qianzi wasn’t sure if she had misread it, but she thought she saw an unusual gleam flash in Bai’s eyes: “When I dared to raise a knife against you, I didn’t plan to live much longer. The cave spirit knows my intentions, accepts my sacrifice, and will guide my departed soul.”
Meng Qianzi was momentarily speechless—more accurately, she didn’t understand and thus couldn’t rebut.
Bai Shuixiao continued calmly: “If the Gu worm can’t subdue you, that’s fine. I have other methods. If those don’t work, I can still kill you. I’ve heard that the Mountain Ghost throne has been vacant for decades. Once you’re dead, the Mountain Ghosts will be in chaos for years. By then, who will care about the affairs of Western Hunan…?”
At this point, she suddenly raised her voice: “Jin Zhu, Yin Zhu, burn tall incense for Miss Meng!”
Two people outside answered promptly, their voices crisp and somewhat childish. Indeed, the two girls who entered were at most twelve or thirteen years old, both thin and dark-skinned, each carrying four or five long branches as tall as a person. Meng Qianzi could see them clearly, and her heart sank.
The long branches were actually in two parts: the upper four-fifths was wooden, but the lower fifth ended in sharp, pin-like tips as thick as a little finger. With that length, they could impale her completely. Meng Qianzi roughly understood what “burning tall incense” meant. With eight or nine of these thrust down at her, if they hit vital points, death would be certain, and her body would be riddled with holes.
Her scalp tingled: As long as she was in the mountains, she always had a lifesaving move, but that move took some time to execute, and they could stab her to death in less than a minute.
Being brutally stabbed to death would probably be the most humiliating way to die in the history of the Mountain Ghost throne. She wouldn’t even be able to face her ancestors in the afterlife…
As these urgent thoughts raced through her mind, she saw Bai Shuixiao take one of the branches and forcefully stick it into the ground. The room had a rammed earth floor—sturdy, but not impervious to the sharp pins. The long branch stood upright on the ground, reaching almost to Bai Shuixiao’s chin.
Jin Zhu and Yin Zhu, being too short, brought over stools to stand on, lighting the tops of the branches.
Meng Qianzi was bewildered, watching as they surrounded her with nine “tall incense” sticks, inserting and lighting them. The fragrance was slightly thick, rising a few inches before flowing downward, creating a rather beautiful effect like nine extremely fine waterfalls of milky-white smoke.
Happiness came somewhat suddenly, and Meng Qianzi couldn’t help but confirm with Bai Shuixiao: “This is ‘burning tall incense’?”
Bai Shuixiao smiled without humor: “This method isn’t perfect—the dosage is hard to control. With the right amount, you’ll become obedient; with too much, you’ll become a fool; with even more, it’s practically lethal. But since the Gu worm won’t touch you, we have to try this approach.”
“I see,” Meng Qianzi relaxed even more, lying back on the ground like a Buddha on an altar: “Then burn it longer. Ordinary doses don’t affect me much.”
She had discerned something: rather than killing her, Bai Shuixiao preferred to control her, to make her compliant.
Why?
Because if she died, even without someone sitting on the throne, her aunts would surely put someone else in charge, and all the delayed affairs would continue as before.
But if she could be made obedient, she could stop whatever activities Bai Shuixiao disliked. Rather than repeatedly dealing with new threats, who wouldn’t prefer a permanent solution?
About three miles west of Wakuo Village was a large cave with a small entrance but a spacious interior, though not particularly deep—just about the size of a banquet hall.
Normally, the villagers of Wakuo avoided it, preferring to take the long way around. The area was rarely visited and relatively desolate. But today was different. Outside the cave, six or seven vehicles, large and small, were parked. People constantly moved in and out of the cave entrance, wearing headlamps, carrying bright flashlights, thermal cameras, and metal detectors. Amid the noisy crowd, beams of light crisscrossed, illuminating the dark cave like a spotlight-lit stage.
Many villagers excitedly came to watch the commotion—men and women, old and young. However, “women” here referred only to elderly ladies—there were no young women or girls, clearly demonstrating the villagers’ taboo against “cave-falling.”
A half-bald old man with a pipe at his waist gesticulated wildly before Meng Jinsong and his group, speaking in broken Mandarin, spittle flying: “I know, I know! That Bai girl, so pretty, caught the cave spirit’s eye, right here…”
He pointed toward the cave entrance, his black face flushed with excitement, blue veins standing out against the redness: “She walked from right here. At that moment, a wind blew out from the cave, howling…”
The half-bald old man had a strong desire to perform. He puffed his cheeks to simulate the wind: “It blew straight at her, hitting the Bai girl directly. She shuddered, her steps became unsteady, her eyes glazed over, her braids came undone, and she lost one shoe, staggering home crookedly.”
“This girl had no parents, only a grandmother. The grandmother wept, killed a sheep, and invited an old shaman to retrieve her soul. The shaman set up an altar over there and worked for half a day, but the cave spirit wouldn’t agree. It had found a wife and wouldn’t let her go… Ruined, ruined! A perfectly good girl, just waiting to die like that.”
He smacked his lips, his face full of regret, while simultaneously feeling proud of his ability to speak so eloquently before this group of outsiders.