Meng Jinsong found the old man’s words too exaggerated and didn’t take them seriously. He instructed Liu Guanguo to continue questioning the villagers while he ducked into the cave.
Inside, people were everywhere, along with equipment and cables. Meng Jinsong couldn’t immediately identify what to focus on or where to go. As he hesitated, Qiu Dong hurried over to report: “Assistant Meng, we’ve checked every corner. Some brothers even climbed to the upper areas to explore. There are no abnormal readings anywhere.”
Meng Jinsong listened absent-mindedly, making vague sounds of acknowledgment while his eyes scanned the surroundings. Suddenly, he spotted Shen Gun.
Among the busy crowd, he was truly conspicuous, like a crane among chickens. He sat cross-legged on a large rock, hands resting on his knees, eyes closed, sometimes shaking his head, sometimes muttering to himself. Shen Bang and Shen Wangu stood on either side of him like the two guardian generals Ha and Heng, occasionally helping others by passing equipment or pulling cables.
Could he possess some extraordinary ability? Meng Jinsong wondered, beckoning Shen Bang over.
Shen Bang ran over with monkey-like agility.
Meng Jinsong pointed at Shen Gun: “What’s he muttering about?”
“Oh, he says everyone might have been deceived. Bai Shuixiao lied to the villagers—she probably didn’t fall into the cave here.”
Meng Jinsong was startled: “On what basis? Is there any evidence?”
Shen Bang looked embarrassed, finding it difficult to say, which was why he hadn’t reported it immediately: “He says… he used his inner sense to feel the place, and his heart didn’t react, so there’s nothing special about this cave.”
What ridiculous reasoning, thought Meng Jinsong irritably. Yet strangely, after sending Shen Bang away, this explanation kept circling in his mind. Combined with what Qiu Dong had said earlier, he increasingly found merit in the idea: Bai Shuixiao was full of lies, her outside and inside completely different. Any information about her should be verified multiple times and not easily trusted.
He left the cave and beckoned to the half-bald old man, who felt greatly honored, approaching with proud, hurried steps.
Meng Jinsong asked him: “When Bai Shuixiao encountered the wind and fell into the cave, did anyone else witness it?”
The old man waved his hands repeatedly: “No, no. The cave spirit did it secretly. How could anyone see it?”
“Then how do you know it was this cave?”
“A shoe was found at the entrance, and later, Bai girl said so herself.”
No witnesses, only her account, and the shoe—could she have placed it there herself?
Meng Jinsong pondered for a moment: “Before that, was she normal? Was it only after that day that she changed from how she was before?”
The old man nodded vigorously: “Yes, yes.”
After a pause, he added: “Her grandmother also said she was fine when she sent her off.”
Sent her off? Where? Meng Jinsong didn’t understand.
The old man explained enthusiastically: “Her grandmother lived in Laoshanling. She went to visit her grandmother as a relative. She was perfectly fine when she went, and still fine when her grandmother sent her off. It was only when she returned to the village that she was ruined.”
Meng Jinsong felt he was getting somewhere. He looked back at the cave entrance: “This cave is so close to your village. Before Bai Shuixiao, had any other girls fallen into the cave?”
“No,” the old man said, growing excited again. “We had never heard of ‘cave-falling’ before. It was only when her grandmother invited an old shaman to fight the cave spirit and retrieve her soul that she learned about it. Everyone gathered to see this curiosity. Later, when the soul wasn’t retrieved, her grandmother collapsed in tears.”
“And now, where is her grandmother?”
“Dead. Died last winter. Cold, old age, couldn’t make it through.”
An elderly person who collapsed in tears—it seemed genuine, with little possibility of conspiring with Bai Shuixiao in an act. It appeared that Bai Shuixiao’s incident occurred somewhere on the road from Laoshanling back to Wakuo Village.
“Where is Laoshanling?”
This tested the old man’s geographical knowledge. He stood with his mouth open, not knowing where to begin. Fortunately, there was a clever mountain dweller nearby who quickly brought maps, two versions: one in the standard style and one created by the Mountain Ghosts themselves.
The old man couldn’t understand scale or read much, so he naturally preferred the Mountain Ghost map, which showed mountains as mountains and trees as trees—easier to recognize.
Squinting, he ran his rough finger with dirt under the nail back and forth across the map, occasionally exclaiming: “Oh, isn’t this the karst sinkhole? Oh my, this river gets big when it rains! Last year I went to the market and almost got swept away by the water…”
Meng Jinsong was extremely impatient but didn’t want to rush him. Just as his frustration peaked, the old man’s finger forcefully poked a spot twice: “Here, here, it should be around this area.”
Meng Jinsong looked where he pointed and felt a strange sensation rising in his chest: “Are you sure?”
The old man was confident: “I’ve lived in these mountains for decades. It’s right here.”
Meng Jinsong’s heart pounded like a drum.
He wasn’t sure if he was overthinking: the location the old man pointed to had already crossed the legendary small and large boundary walls of the Miao people, and was close to… very close to the position of Hanging Gall Peak Forest in the mountain chart.
Meng Qianzi’s claim that ordinary doses couldn’t affect her wasn’t an exaggeration.
Since childhood, she had undergone rigorous training from her seven aunts, consuming countless mountain herbs and medicines. She could withstand injuries better than ordinary people, healed faster, and had greater resistance to certain poisons, miasma, and smoke, as long as it wasn’t like last night, with large amounts of refined powder suddenly blown directly at her.
The “tall incense” was made from an extremely rare Gu wood found in the mountains. According to legend, while most Miao Gu utilized Gu worms, only love Gu required Gu wood, because this plant had hallucinogenic properties that could confuse and control people’s minds.
However, as Bai Shuixiao had said, the dosage was difficult to control and varied from person to person. One mistake could render someone foolish, so they had to use it in its most primitive form, burning it slowly. The nine tall incense sticks looked intimidating, but they were actually very thin and burned slowly. By noon, the first round had barely finished burning, which for Meng Qianzi was like a drizzle that wet her surface without penetrating her skin, flesh, or lungs. Although her eyes appeared moist and hazy, and she seemed somewhat dazed, when Bai Shuixiao probed by asking, “Who are you?” she still precisely answered, “Your grandmother.”
This infuriated Bai Shuixiao, who ordered Jin Zhu and Yin Zhu to add two more sticks.
The village was remote, with no households within more than ten miles. Meng Qianzi had first been drugged with the mist, then bound tightly, and now the “tall incense” was burning—a triple insurance policy. Bai Shuixiao wasn’t worried about her escaping. Based on the reaction to the first round, the incense wouldn’t have much effect until dusk. Bai Shuixiao didn’t have the patience to stand guard, so after locking the door, she took Jin Zhu and Yin Zhu to attend to her own business.
Meng Qianzi was outwardly defiant but inwardly conflicted: if the burning continued, her muscles and bones would suffer. She was already experiencing mild hallucinations, constantly feeling as if a line of tiny ants was climbing the wall from the base, sometimes forming a straight line, sometimes a human-shaped pattern.
But she was extremely reluctant to use her powers and leave: she hadn’t even discovered who the mastermind was, and causing chaos now would be disgraceful. Besides, this deep infiltration into enemy territory would be completely wasted, like being dragged around as a kidnapping victim.
After thinking it through, optimism prevailed: she would hold out a bit longer and wait. Perhaps the mastermind would get impatient and come to see her. Or maybe Meng Jinsong was already on his way—if he acted, why should she bother?
…
Around four in the afternoon, the sun slanted westward, shining through the window and enveloping Meng Qianzi. In her groggy state, she opened her eyes to see her body covered in dense flames.
The tall incense was truly potent. She vaguely knew these were hallucinations, but couldn’t help finding the flames on her body disturbing. She couldn’t resist reaching out to pat them away. After a few attempts, she became fixated on this task, and people under the influence of hallucinogens fear fixation the most. The human mind is like a seedling that should be rooted in reality. If focused on illusions, it’s like being uprooted from reality. If one’s mind isn’t firm, it can easily be led astray by those with ulterior motives.
As she patted frantically, someone pushed her shoulder, and a familiar male voice called: “Miss Meng! Miss Meng?”
Meng Qianzi turned her head curiously.
How strange. Judging by the build, shoulder width, and frame, it was a man, but perched on his neck was a smooth, porcelain-white meatball. Around him and in mid-air were thin, fluttering human faces with small wings. She recognized all these faces—Meng Jinsong’s, Xin Ci’s, Elder Aunt’s, Second Mother Tang Yuru’s, even Bai Shuixiao’s…
When the man spoke to her, occasionally a face would whoosh over, attach to the meatball like a mask, then peel off and fly away, only for another face to attach itself. Thus, the speaker kept changing; the first half of a sentence might be spoken by Seventh Mother, while the second half switched to Liu Guanguo…
Now it was Shen Wangu speaking: “Miss Meng, are you alright?”
It must be Bai Shuixiao playing some trick. Did she think such petty tactics would frighten her? Ridiculous.
Meng Qianzi frowned, tilting her head to examine his cheek, finally spotting the clue: this human face was slowly curling at the jaw, then peeling off and flying away.
The speaker changed again to Shen Gun, who held up a finger and said, “Come, Miss Meng, you’re a bit confused right now. Look at my finger, follow it wherever it moves…”
It’s peeling again! This face was peeling off again. Meng Qianzi, quick of eye and hand, firmly pinched his cheek. Sure enough, the face couldn’t fly away now, struggling and darting frantically. Meng Qianzi laughed coldly: “See if you can escape now.”
Jiang Lian lowered his eyes to look at his distorted cheek flesh and silently thought: Damn it.
Jiang Lian had struggled to track them down.
At first, he thought Bai Shuixiao was trying to shake off the three of them and escape alone by car. Later, he discovered this woman was extremely clever. Finding the car too conspicuous, after dragging Meng Qianzi out, she created the illusion that the car had fallen into a pond, then carried Meng Qianzi into the forest.
If she had simply traversed the forest and crossed the mountains, it wouldn’t have been difficult to track her. Bai Shuixiao’s cunning lay in constantly changing routes and having accomplices: for instance, using zip lines to cross mountaintops, then retrieving the ropes after crossing. She could cross quickly, but Jiang Lian had to climb.
Similarly, when crossing rivers, there were ferry pullers. She also utilized cave passages. In the deep mountains where signals were unavailable, she had pre-hidden fireworks. When the signal went up, a tractor would come to pick her up, followed by another change of transportation—transition after transition. It wasn’t that the Mountain Ghosts couldn’t find clues; even Jiang Lian, who had been following closely, lost track several times, having to turn back and try again. Only by the third cockcrow did he finally infiltrate the village.
Once inside the village, things got even more complicated.
Old Ga’s Bafang Village had already seemed remote to him, but this village surpassed it. “Isolated from the world” was no exaggeration. More surprisingly, this village was still in an era without electricity—no power poles or lines.
The inhabitants were strange, too. Generally, mountain people are gentle and simple, but in this village, everyone he glimpsed, both inside and outside houses, had a fierce appearance: Following the rhythmic hammering sound, he climbed over the courtyard wall of a silversmith and saw the man twisting silver strips with his upper body bare, with more than ten scars on his back; he saw an old woman leaning against a doorframe weaving a floral band, and when bored, she skillfully lit a cigarette—the logo on the pack revealed it was foreign tobacco; he also saw a middle-aged woman with disheveled hair wearing a red spaghetti strap dress with nothing underneath, walking with a limp. When her skirt lifted, he saw one leg was thick and one was thin as a hemp stalk, and oddly twisted.
In short, it didn’t resemble a normal village at all. The clothing styles varied widely, and everyone had cold eyes and an eerie aura. This made Jiang Lian cautious. He didn’t dare reveal himself, sneaking like a thief, climbing into one house, then another, gradually losing hope: so much time had passed that Meng Qianzi could have been killed and buried eighty times over.
But he still had hope: if they wanted to kill her, they would have done so already. Going to such trouble to kidnap her, they probably didn’t just want her life.
Persistence paid off. Finally, in one courtyard, he spotted Bai Shuixiao. He didn’t act rashly, waiting patiently until she left with an old woman. The two young girls left on guard had playful dispositions and gathered at the main gate looking for a bird. He seized the opportunity to climb in and search room by room, finally finding Meng Qianzi.
But the scene was bizarre. About ten incense sticks of varying heights made a faint, sweet fragrance float in the air. Jiang Lian suspected it wasn’t anything good and quickly pinched them all out. He then took off his jacket and waved it around the room to dissipate the smell faster, before kneeling to untie Meng Qianzi’s bonds.
…
Jiang Lian grabbed Meng Qianzi’s wrist, forcibly pulling her hand away from his face. Meng Qianzi looked at the empty air with regret, murmuring: “It slipped.”
This was terrible—she was temporarily confused. Jiang Lian felt a headache coming on.
There was something suspicious about this village. Jiang Lian sensed they couldn’t cause a commotion; it would be best to leave silently. But how to take Meng Qianzi away was a problem: it had been challenging enough for him alone to evade so many eyes, let alone with someone as delirious as she was…
Jiang Lian frowned as he watched Meng Qianzi: she bit her lip, staring at a spot in the air, then suddenly her hand shot out like lightning, grabbing at space—her movements were still quite agile—then she stared at her tightly clenched fist, smiling smugly, almost deviously.
Jiang Lian had no way of knowing that in her hallucination, his “face-skin” was struggling desperately in her palm, with tears falling from its eyes. His mind raced through possible strategies. When she turned to grab another spot in the air, he made a swift decision, delivering a chop to the back of her neck.
Meng Qianzi collapsed without a sound.
Jiang Lian sighed in relief. Carrying someone unconscious was easier than carrying someone who would shout and move wildly. He picked up the scattered ropes, stuffed them carelessly into his chest, took the matches from the table, relit the tall incense, and then carried her out.
After closing the door and pressing the forced lock back together to make everything appear normal, he had just turned the corner when he heard the main gate creak open, and two adolescent girls entered, their heads lowered as they wove wheat straw.