Jiang Lian felt the roar of voices chasing him from behind and didn’t dare delay for a moment, running even faster.
Speed was one of his greatest strengths—otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to catch up with Bai Shuixiao the night before. Added to that, he was already close to the back mountain, giving him a head start. He ran without pause, not bothering to carefully choose his path, taking any trail he found, leaping across any stream he encountered, ascending and descending mountains, crossing ridges and rivers. When he finally stopped, exhausted, dusk had fallen, and the forest was even darker. The village, those strange people, and those nerve-wracking sounds had long been left behind.
Only now did Jiang Lian feel how unbearably heavy Meng Qianzi was. A person’s weight is one thing, but carrying someone unconscious or drunk is far heavier than carrying someone awake. A dead person is even heavier—that’s why there’s the expression “dead weight.”
Jiang Lian untied the rope and set Meng Qianzi down, then dropped to the ground himself. After a day and night of running without a grain of rice to eat, he hadn’t felt it during the tension, but once relaxed, he could barely stand. His calves were trembling. Panting heavily, he sniffed and, after recovering, glanced at Meng Qianzi beside him, muttering: “You’re comfortable enough.”
The splashing sound of water came from nearby—a small mountain stream. Jiang Lian dragged himself over and squatted down, examining it in the faint twilight: the water was clear and flowing continuously—living water. The rocks, half-submerged in the water, had moss growing on them, which meant common plants could grow there, so it was probably safe.
He scooped up a handful to splash his face, drank a couple of mouthfuls, wiped his mouth, and began to worry as night fell.
He was certain he was lost.
In fact, after a night of tracking, he had already been disoriented by Bai Shuixiao’s “transitions upon transitions,” and the recent frantic escape had completely confused him. Being stranded in the vast mountains at night was certainly not pleasant. This place was deeper and more remote than anywhere else he’d been since entering Western Hunan. In just the short time it took to drink some water, he had already heard animal roars several times—wolf-like yet not wolves, tiger-like yet not tigers. The unknown made it all the more unnerving.
Jiang Lian returned to Meng Qianzi’s side and pushed her shoulder, but she didn’t wake. Even if Bai Shuixiao’s incense had been potent, the jostling along the way should have dissipated some of its effects. If she were still unconscious, that would be trouble. The longer they delayed, the worse things would get. He needed to find a way to get her medical help tonight.
He carried Meng Qianzi to the stream’s edge, scooped some water, and sprinkled it on her face. This trick he had learned from Master Gan, who said mountain stream water was bone-chillingly cold and could sober up drunkenness or sleepiness.
Meng Qianzi’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t wake.
At least there was a response. Jiang Lian decided to try something more drastic. He pushed her face down into the water, then released it, mentally counting the time, ready to pull her out promptly.
Fortunately, she soon showed signs of movement. First, her shoulders twitched slightly, then her hands curled into claws, and then she choked on water and began coughing loudly. Jiang Lian hesitated before patting her back, asking: “Are you alright?”
Meng Qianzi shook her head while coughing, as if feeling she wasn’t awake enough, and even dunked her entire head into the water herself. After going in and out of the water several times, she finally sat down dejectedly, head bowed, with water constantly dripping from her wet hair. Weakly, she beckoned to Jiang Lian with her index finger.
Jiang Lian worried she might have suffered some aftereffects from her time with Bai Shuixiao and leaned in to check her complexion: “How are you…”
Halfway through his sentence, he suddenly noticed her cheeks were slightly puffed out. A realization struck him, and he turned his head to dodge, but was half a second too slow. Meng Qianzi spat a mouthful of water directly at him, hitting his right cheek and washing over his ear. Then, with its momentum spent, the water poured down his neck, dividing into several streams—some running down his back to his waist, others flowing from his shoulder across his chest to his abdomen, creating a chilling, sour sensation.
He reached up to wipe away the water hanging from his right eyelashes, then raised his head.
The moon was bright, its reflection dancing on the water, as radiant as daylight. Meng Qianzi tilted her head to look at him sideways, her lips slowly spreading into a bewitching smile. Her features were already striking, and her skin, moistened by water, became even more translucent. Her lips were distinctly defined, with a trembling droplet still hanging at the corner.
Jiang Lian froze for a moment, thinking for the first time that the term “Mountain Ghost” truly suited her. She was exactly like a mountain enchantress who appeared in the night, extremely alluring yet dangerous, just like the sensual dreams and nightmares of those honest scholars from ancient times.
She extended her finger, leisurely wiping away the drop at the corner of her lips, and said: “I missed.”
Jiang Lian smiled and smiled again, for the sake of friendship.
Using this smile to dissipate most of his annoyance, he couldn’t help but voice the remainder: “Miss Meng, if I were selfish and fearful, I could have completely avoided rescuing you… After all my effort, getting a mouthful of water spat at me—isn’t that a bit unfair?”
Meng Qianzi gave him a contemptuous glance: “You had no choice but to rescue me. Don’t forget, it was you who held a knife to my throat and abducted me. If you didn’t come, it would confirm you were Bai Shuixiao’s accomplice and an enemy of the Mountain Ghosts. As long as I remained missing, you wouldn’t have a moment’s peace. Only if I returned safely, and was rescued by you, could you clear your name… Don’t present yourself as so righteous. No one is a fool.”
Jiang Lian was left speechless.
He had to admit he did have such thoughts, but when he had rushed to chase the car the night before, he hadn’t considered all this.
It didn’t matter. Let her interpret it however she wanted. Her interpretation wasn’t wrong anyway.
Jiang Lian spread his hands to indicate: You’re powerful, you’re completely right, I have nothing to say.
Suddenly, he remembered something: “Have you recovered now? Are you alright? You were behaving… quite strangely before.”
Before?
Meng Qianzi frowned.
She remembered now. Just as she had begun hallucinating, Jiang Lian had knocked her unconscious.
Mountain Ghosts are trained to resist drugs. The basic level was trying to maintain clarity, while the advanced level was called “returning from seizure.”
Maintaining clarity meant mobilizing all the body’s forces to directly resist: for example, if she became distracted and saw ants on the wall flying like wild geese, but immediately realized this wasn’t real—that was maintaining clarity.
But in ancient times, when opponents released hallucinogenic smoke, they did it secretly, never warning, “Attention, I’m going to drug you now!” So, how to break through illusions after being drugged, how to “return from seizure,” was more important than maintaining clarity.
The principle was simple. Many adults dream of returning to their college entrance exam hall, with time running out and a blank paper, causing cold sweat. But suddenly, enlightenment strikes: “Wasn’t I at work/in a meeting/on a business trip/with my son yesterday? How could I be taking an exam? This must be a dream.”
Then they sigh with relief and gradually wake up.
In short, it was a process of “entering seizure—breaking illusion.” The longer one persisted, the more illusions one broke, the higher one’s ability to return from seizure became. Though Meng Qianzi’s record wasn’t the best, she had once persisted for 112 minutes, breaking 46 illusions—less than 3 minutes per illusion on average. So, in her view, she had only just begun to hallucinate, which wasn’t a big deal. Bai Shuixiao’s wariness of the Mountain Ghosts’ ability to “return from seizure” was justified—you might think they were under the influence, but they could suddenly regain clarity and counter-attack. That’s why she repeatedly warned Jin Zhu and Yin Zhu that the effects wouldn’t truly take hold until nightfall, and not to be deceived by Meng Qianzi.
Meng Qianzi rubbed the back of her neck, giving Jiang Lian a complex look: this man was too quick. If he had been patient and waited a bit longer, she would have “returned” to clarity. But at least they had escaped. Though it wasn’t Meng Jinsong who had rescued her, it still met expectations and saved her the trouble.
She tried to stand up, only then realizing her limbs were weak and she couldn’t summon energy from her dantian. It seemed the tall incense did affect the body, with lingering effects like gentle rain, not forceful, but deeply penetrating.
She pressed her hand against her empty stomach, looked around to confirm they were temporarily safe, and asked: “Don’t you have any food?”
Jiang Lian replied: “I haven’t eaten either. From last night until now, who had time to eat?”
“Are you hungry then?”
What was this—did she have a solution?
Jiang Lian said: “Yes, I am.”
“Since you’re hungry and I’m hungry, and we both have needs, why are we just standing here? Go get something to eat.”
Jiang Lian wanted to argue with her, but strangely, though Meng Qianzi seemed to speak without thinking, her twisted logic was somehow self-consistent. After she said this, he also felt: since they were both hungry, they should get something to eat to replenish their strength quickly; and since she was so weak, “he” should be the one to get the food.
He looked around: “But you alone here…”
Meng Qianzi interrupted him: “Of course, I can’t stay here alone. What if Bai Shuixiao’s group catches up?”
She looked up at their surroundings, pointing to a large tree nearby. The tree was about one or two arm-spans thick, with an extremely dense canopy that could easily hide one or two people: “Put me up there, and I’ll wait for you.”
The idea was good, but her commanding tone made Jiang Lian uncomfortable: “Don’t you use the word ‘please’ when talking to people?”
Meng Qianzi did use “please,” depending on her mood and the situation; she also accepted management and guidance, depending on who was giving it—certainly not Jiang Lian. Last night, he had held a knife to her throat, and even though there were reasons, she genuinely couldn’t generate any goodwill toward him. Every word she spoke to him carried a sting.
She said, “No need. When I say something, there are plenty of people eager to do it. I don’t need to say ‘please.'”
Jiang Lian was momentarily speechless. Meng Qianzi ignored him, wringing the water from her hair, and said lightly: “If it’s too much trouble, forget it. I’ll just sit here. Life and death are predetermined. It doesn’t matter.”
Jiang Lian half-closed his eyes, then opened them again: talking with Meng Qianzi truly required counting to calm oneself first; otherwise, he’d want to snap at her. And snapping at her would go against the “grand plan,” not conducive to building friendship.
He crouched with his back to Meng Qianzi: “I need to climb the tree. Hold on tight.”
The tree was quite tall, and with an additional person on his back, Jiang Lian found climbing extremely difficult. Fortunately, while searching the village, he had taken a knife for self-defense. Using the knife as support saved a lot of effort. However, it was somewhat awkward: in this season, people wore less clothing, and with Meng Qianzi’s body pressed against his back, her breath brushed against his neck, impossible to avoid. Their relationship wasn’t close, yet their bodies were “intimate”—some might consider this good fortune, but he only felt embarrassed. The more he tried not to think about it, the more he did, so he could only pretend to be focused.
Meng Qianzi was also very uncomfortable. Normally, she was agile and independent—when had she ever been so helpless as to need someone to carry her? Being carried inherently involved body contact. As Jiang Lian exerted himself climbing, his body grew hot, the muscles in his shoulders and back swelling, inevitably brushing against her here and there. If there were mutual attraction, occasional physical contact would be considered ambiguous and playful; without attraction, it was as unpleasant as swallowing a fly. Meng Qianzi felt a fire of irritation burning inside, though she knew this anger was unreasonable and shouldn’t be expressed.
Climbing a tree became a torment, yet both pretended nothing was wrong, just climbing a tree. Fortunately, it was already dark, and between the dense branches, it was even darker, making it impossible to see each other’s faces. That awkwardness was like a piece of paper, torn up, crumpled, and discarded in the darkness, not to be mentioned.
Jiang Lian helped Meng Qianzi sit on a branch, then quickly climbed down and left, leaving her alone in the vast forest.
The mountain forest at night was inevitably frightening. Both silence and sounds could make one’s hair stand on end, yet Meng Qianzi remained calm: at any time, Mountain Ghosts and mountains shared a close affinity.
She sat high up, with dense leaves and branches below her feet. Even if someone stood at the base of the tree looking up, they would only see the canopy like an umbrella. This tree’s crown was like a nest, encircling her in the center. The smell of leaves, the smell of branches, along with the smells of mountain rocks and the night, were familiar and comforting, relaxing her nerves.
Temples, strongholds, lodges, nests—a thousand or more years ago, most Mountain Ghosts lived this way, making nests in trees and building roosting places.
She wasn’t familiar with this area and didn’t want to risk traveling at night, especially since her body hadn’t recovered. Better to rest for the night, then find a way to contact Meng Jinsong after daybreak. As for Jiang Lian, whether he was trustworthy or not, she could only rely on him for now.
Jiang Lian returned quickly. In the pitch darkness, every part of the forest looked similar. Concerned about Meng Qianzi’s safety, he had only wandered nearby, not daring to go too far. However, he brought back plenty, carrying it in a makeshift pouch formed from his jacket. Most mountains and waters are generous, providing heaven-sent food. One can scrape food from the mountains with an overturned bowl or fish from waters with an open one—hence the saying “rely on mountains to eat from mountains, rely on waters to eat from waters.”
Meng Qianzi pushed aside the leaves above her head and, in the moonlight, sorted through what he had brought: wild kiwis, hawthorn berries, schisandra, wild grapes, prickly chestnuts, and various wild berries. Although some were shriveled and out of season, at this time and place, it counted as a “feast.”
The two sat on separate branches, facing each other, each holding two corners of the jacket pressed against their knees, turning the garment into a table. On this makeshift table, they peeled and ate. They couldn’t carelessly toss away the peels, shells, and stems, as these would reveal their location, so they piled them on the “table,” planning to wrap them in the jacket afterward—a ready-made garbage bag.
Chinese culture includes the dining table culture. Eating and chatting together nurtures relationships, just like the sequence of dishes: cold appetizers first, when people are polite and reserved; then hot dishes, when hearts warm and conversations flow; finally, with wine cups intersecting, friendship is established.
Having started eating, saying nothing seemed inappropriate, as if opening one’s mouth only to eat without chatting was a waste. Moreover, Meng Qianzi had many questions to ask.
“Where are your two friends?”
Jiang Lian was also concerned about their situation.
He briefly explained what had happened earlier: “Wei Biao and Meiying will probably hide first, but they’re not that clever. Sooner or later, your people will find them. Meng Jinsong… won’t make things difficult for them, right?”
Meng Qianzi said, “Jinsong is steady in handling matters. If your friend can explain things clearly, Jinsong won’t go too far. At most…”
She peeled a wild chestnut and popped it into her mouth. This one was good—sweet, crisp, and juicy.
After finishing, she added the second half of her sentence: “…he’ll pick those with thick meat and skin, and beat them a few times.”
It seemed Wei Biao would get beaten. Jiang Lian felt relieved: let him be beaten. Eating so much rice and growing so strong, he should endure some hardship.
Meng Qianzi remembered something else: “Your friend Kuang Meiying, is she ill?”
Jiang Lian nodded: “Yes.”
Meng Qianzi lowered her head to peel a kiwi, which was difficult. The round fruit ended up full of dents under her efforts: “Is it serious?”
“Quite serious. If things go badly, she might only have three to five years to live.”
Meng Qianzi made a sound of acknowledgment: “Then why not send her for treatment? Why bring her into the mountains?”
“Bringing her into the mountains is searching for a way to save her life.”
Master Gan had always instructed him not to mention Meiying’s situation to outsiders, but Jiang Lian had his ideas: if you keep a secret completely closed, it might remain a secret forever; but if you share it appropriately, more people can help interpret it, increasing the chances of uncovering the truth. Besides, he now needed Meng Qianzi’s help.
Rather than making veiled requests for assistance, being straightforward and honest was better. Meng Qianzi didn’t seem unreasonable. If he could gain her sympathy for Meiying, things would be much easier.
Meng Qianzi brought the peeled kiwi to her nose, sniffed it, and decided not to eat it—too sour.
She put down the kiwi, picked a leaf, crushed it, and wiped her hands: “Your fishing for mirage scenes—is that related to Kuang Meiying’s illness?”
“Yes, it is.”
The connection seemed tenuous. Meng Qianzi remembered the paintings Jiang Lian had drawn: “That woman in white with half her head cut off who was still crawling…”
“That was Meiying’s maternal great-grandmother—her great-grandma. That caravan was the Kuang family moving their belongings. At that time, the Japanese had invaded Hunan, and they were trying to escape the war…”
He stopped speaking: a faint beam of flashlight was sweeping through the branches diagonally in front of them, like an abrupt streak of brightness.
It must be coming from nearby—someone moving a flashlight.
After a while, disjointed footsteps approached, and the beams multiplied and brightened, sweeping randomly through the forest. One beam even penetrated the dense foliage, passing behind his ear and illuminating half his face.
Someone was coming.
Neither spoke. Meng Qianzi silently picked up the two corners of the jacket and passed them to Jiang Lian. He accepted them, noiselessly bundled and tied them, and then they both sat upright, backs against the tree trunk, completely still, even their breathing significantly quieter.