The sound of people drew closer.

First came the chattering of girls: “Water, water, I told you there would be water if we turned this way.”

It was Jin Zhu and Yin Zhu. The two quickly darted beneath the trees, rushing toward the stream. They busily washed their hands and faces, drank their fill, and then filled the water bottles they carried.

Following behind them were Bai Shuixiao and Tian Ya Po. They stopped beside the trees, waiting for Jin Zhu and Yin Zhu to fetch water, casually making conversation.

Bai Shuixiao said, “We’ll part ways ahead. You should find a safe place to hide for a while, then return after things settle down.”

Tian Ya Po sighed, “We’ll be fine. You’re the one who needs to be careful. The Mountain Ghost has been distributing your photo everywhere and offering a large reward. Along this route, you must avoid villages with people. They might all have been bought off by the Mountain Ghost.”

Bai Shuixiao’s face darkened as she repeatedly pressed the switch on her flashlight, causing the light before her to flicker on and off.

Those who had come looking for her in the afternoon were indeed from the Mountain Ghost, though slightly different from what she had expected. They carried her photo and had been asking about her all the way here. From their demeanor, it wasn’t hard to guess that Meng Qianzi had gone missing, the situation was serious, and the Mountain Ghost forces had mobilized in full force, combing through every village and settlement, not overlooking any inhabited place, determined not to rest until they found her.

But none of that mattered now: Meng Qianzi had indeed escaped, which meant the Mountain Ghost’s main force would arrive sooner or later, forcing her to leave to avoid trouble.

Tian Ya Po thought for a moment, “Why don’t we just go together? With more people, we can look out for each other.”

Bai Shuixiao remained silent, then, after a pause, said, “I’ve messed things up and need to go back to explain.”

Tian Ya Po’s expression changed slightly, and she involuntarily shuddered, her voice trembling, “Nothing bad will happen, right?”

Bai Shuixiao heard the fear in her voice: “Don’t worry, nothing will happen. Don’t think of him as being that frightening.”

Tian Ya Po forced a laugh, “I’ve never met him. You… you’re really… bewitched.”

She wanted to say a few more words of caution, but Jin Zhu and Yin Zhu had already returned. Tian Ya Po fell silent, and the group resumed their journey.

As soon as they left, Meng Qianzi could no longer contain herself. She pushed aside the branches and looked in the direction of the retreating flashlight beam. Before long, one beam of light separated from the others, heading off in a different direction. That must be Bai Shuixiao.

She urged Jiang Lian, “Hurry, follow her.”

Jiang Lian didn’t move. “Why?”

What did he mean, why? Didn’t he have a brain? Meng Qianzi felt irritated: it was so much easier talking to Meng Jinsong. After years of working together, a single glance was all it took—no need for words—and he would handle everything perfectly.

She patiently explained, “Didn’t you hear Bai Shuixiao say she needed to go back to explain? This means she has a mastermind behind her; she’s just carrying out orders. If we follow her, we can trace the connection and find that person.”

Jiang Lian said, “I understand the reasoning, but Miss Meng, your safety is most important. You haven’t even fully recovered your strength yet… I think it would be better to wait until you reunite with Meng Jinsong before investigating this matter.”

Meng Qianzi laughed coldly, “Do you know how difficult it is to find someone hidden deep in the mountains?”

In these vast mountain forests, even finding a team would be difficult, let alone a single person. Once Bai Shuixiao left, she would be like a fish returning to the sea, a stone among countless mountains—finding her again would be nearly impossible.

“I know, but Bai Shuixiao is already quite formidable. Whoever is behind her must be even more dangerous, and who knows how many others there might be? Following her like this is too risky. It would be better to wait until you’ve gathered your people…”

Seeing that the flashlight beam was almost fading from view, Meng Qianzi grew increasingly impatient. “I’m not suggesting we confront them directly. We can follow secretly, try not to expose ourselves, figure out where she’s going, and find a way to contact Jinsong. Wouldn’t that work…?”

She suddenly stopped, as if realizing something. She glanced at Jiang Lian, her eyes revealing a strange look, and said, “I understand now.”

There was something behind those words. Jiang Lian’s heart skipped a beat, and his scalp tingled.

“You think it’s better not to get involved, that returning me safely would complete your duty, and you don’t want to get mixed up in these matters, right?”

She drew out her words, smiling gently, “I understand.”

Having his little scheme exposed made him feel awkward, but that was indeed his thought: he had gone to great lengths to rescue her and wanted to quickly settle the “kidnapping” debt. He didn’t want any further complications—if she ventured into the tiger’s den again and got injured, crippled, or even killed, he, as the “kidnapper,” would be permanently branded with blame that could never be washed away.

He hadn’t expected to be seen through so quickly. Since she was smiling, Jiang Lian could only smile along, knowing that whatever little goodwill he had earned earlier was now wasted.

It might even count against him.

Meng Qianzi gripped the tree branch, seemingly about to slide down. Worried that she lacked the strength and might fall, Jiang Lian quickly reached out to help her, but she stopped, not immediately descending.

Jiang Lian’s outstretched hand hung awkwardly in the air before he withdrew it.

Meng Qianzi spoke with contempt, “It’s normal for you to think that way. But let me remind you, our dispute is far from settled. My chain—there’s still no sign of it. If you think that helping to rescue me will erase everything that happened before, you’re thinking too simply.”

That chain again.

Jiang Lian realized that the chain he had been ignoring was quite extraordinary.

“Is that chain very important?”

Meng Qianzi said, “Passed down for thousands of years, the only one of its kind in the world. Do you think it’s important? If you’ve got the guts, don’t follow me.”

With that, she turned sideways and slid down the tree trunk. A distance that would normally require no effort was now truly difficult for her. Her hands and legs were weak, and she practically slid and tumbled down. Fortunately, tree climbing was a skill from her childhood. Although she seemed to have scraped her elbow and twisted her ankle when landing, she still managed to come down with apparent grace.

Still better than falling outright.

She came down so nimbly that Jiang Lian genuinely thought she had recovered quickly. The impact of this news was quite significant. He raised his right hand again to examine it: what kind of hand was this that had yanked away an antique, a one-of-a-kind item? In his daily life of drawing lots and raffles, he had never been this “lucky.”

He had previously thought his luck was bad, but now he understood that it was his fate that was poor.

It seemed that until the chain was returned, this debt would never be settled. Jiang Lian sighed and was about to follow her down when he suddenly stopped.

Wait, Meng Qianzi had just said, “If you’ve got the guts, don’t follow me,” not “If you’ve got the guts, follow me.”

He drew in a sharp breath. This woman was so cunning! She knew that regardless of his reluctance, he would follow her. After all his efforts to rescue her, would he abandon her alone in the deep mountains to be devoured by tigers and wolves?

Rushing to help, only to be manipulated—life had suddenly become a dilemma. Should he follow or not? Not following would be inappropriate, but following would mean falling into her verbal trap and admitting he had no guts…

After a moment, Jiang Lian lowered his head, his gaze sliding to his waist, and muttered, “Facts speak louder than words. Do you think you can deny what’s there?”

Tch, who does she think she is?

He nimbly flipped down from the tree.

Meng Jinsong kept only a few trusted individuals by his side, including Liu Guanguo. Tonight, they were staying temporarily in Wake Village. Considering Shen Gun’s special circumstances, it wasn’t appropriate to leave him anywhere, but he could occasionally be of some use, so Meng Jinsong kept him nearby, if only as manual labor.

The rest of the people were divided: a large group set out first to search for traces of Bai Shuixiao along the way; a smaller group returned to Wuling to prepare equipment and supplies—the ultimate goal for all being to cross the Small Border Wall and enter Xuandan Peak Forest.

After dinner, Shen Gun rolled up his small notebook and went to explore the village, with Second Shen half-supervising, half-accompanying him. Liu Guanguo came over to report on the progress of the search to Meng Jinsong.

Meng Jinsong didn’t hold much hope for this kind of search. After all, they couldn’t really search people’s homes, and if someone deliberately concealed information and simply replied, “We don’t have that person here,” what could they do?

Sure enough, Liu Guanguo reported “no discoveries” from a long list of villages, ridges, and settlements. Meng Jinsong grew tired of listening, but when he heard one particular settlement name, he casually asked, “Why is this village called ‘Broken People Ridge’? Who would choose such a name?”

Generally, long-established villages would choose auspicious names for good fortune. Many local village names sounded awkward but were positive words in the local dialect. Or they might be named after geographical features, like “Three Stone Village” or “Eagle’s Beak Village.” But they would never call themselves “Broken People”—how inauspicious!

Liu Guanguo said, “It is called ‘Broken People Ridge.'”

The origin of “Broken People Ridge” was similar to the former “Leprosy Villages.” Before liberation, those with incurable contagious diseases would be forcibly sent to remote ridges to live out their remaining days, as villages feared keeping them. To prevent the sick from escaping, high walls would be built, gates strictly guarded, and even special people hired to keep watch.

After liberation, with government care, such settlements naturally fell into disuse. Moreover, their remote locations made infrastructure development difficult, making it hard for anyone to live there. Strange enough, people gradually began moving in again.

It was said that some were terminally ill, having lost hope and seeking isolation to await death; some had psychological disorders and harbored hatred for society, unable to live among normal people; some had committed crimes elsewhere or were fleeing from enemies, forced to hide in remote mountains and deep forests…

In short, there wasn’t a single normal person among them. After all, the ridge had no running water or electricity, and the lifestyle was almost primitive—normal people couldn’t endure such hardship.

There weren’t many, perhaps several dozen. Three people make a crowd, and a crowd establishes rules. They called themselves “Broken People,” not out of despair but with a hint of proud self-deprecation, disdaining to stand shoulder to shoulder with the “unbroken” people outside. They had to help each other and share common enemies—if someone’s adversary came looking for them, others would help, expecting the same in return. They avoided contact with the outside world and resisted visits from strangers…

Generally, the government would pay special attention to such gatherings of unidentified personnel. However, firstly, Broken People Ridge was extremely remote, with few residents who neither went out nor caused trouble, living like wisps of smoke, their existence barely noticeable. Secondly, they were cunning—at the first sign of trouble, they would scatter immediately, leaving the settlement empty. When things quieted down, they would return to their nests, like guerrilla fighters. If caught, they would claim to be tourists seeking to escape modern life and return to nature. What could anyone do about that? Was it illegal?

Who had the patience to deal with them?

Meng Jinsong asked, “So our people couldn’t even enter the settlement?”

Liu Guanguo nodded, “Indeed. Though the ridge has no phones or cell service, news travels fast. Every household has a bell, and supposedly, the rhythm and urgency indicate the severity of the situation. Outsiders can’t understand the signals. The first person to spot a stranger immediately rings their bell, and those nearby relay the signal like passing a baton. Within a few rounds, the entire settlement knows and rushes to help block the intruders, completely denying entry. But… it doesn’t matter whether we get in or not.”

Even if they entered the settlement, they couldn’t enter people’s homes.

Meng Jinsong remained silent.

Liu Guanguo observed his expression and had a thought: “Assistant Meng, do you think Miss Meng is there? I could send a couple of people to investigate?”

Meng Jinsong wearily rubbed his temples. He did indeed find this settlement suspicious, but not just this one—he found every settlement Liu Guanguo had mentioned suspicious. He was panicking, had lost direction, and was suspecting everything he heard. Such a state of mind was dangerous.

He cleared his throat, “Even if we investigate, we need some evidence first. We can’t just act on hunches and have everyone running around aimlessly… Go and rest now.”

Liu Guanguo acknowledged and walked toward the door. As he reached the doorway, Meng Jinsong instructed him, “Close the door behind you.”

Liu Guanguo quickly pulled the door shut, his heart pounding, thinking: Assistant Meng is going to make that phone call now.

It was indeed time to make the call.

Such a significant event, concealed for a day and night, had left Meng Jinsong mentally and physically exhausted. Perhaps due to professional habit, he was accustomed to following orders and carrying out tasks. When it came to making his own decisions, he felt both unfamiliar and resistant—what if he made the wrong decision? His position as an assistant could only bear so much weight; he couldn’t handle certain consequences.

Logically, the call should go to Grand Aunt Gao Jinghong, but during his recent conversations with Qianzi, he had gathered from her words that the Grand Aunt’s health wasn’t particularly good.

Meng Jinsong hesitated for a moment, then dialed Second Aunt Tang Yuru.

Tang Yuru, Meng Qianzi’s second mother, currently sixty-six years old, had spent years living by Mount Tai.

This Second Aunt was the complete opposite of Gao Jinghong. In her youth, she had experienced various major political movements, and the ideology of frugality and simplicity had taken deep root in her heart. She strongly disapproved of the “butterflies and rouge” lifestyle, and once even disliked her name for sounding too much like “a young lady from a landlord’s family.” She changed it to “Tang Weihong,” but after using it for a while, she discovered that during that era, too many people had changed their names to Weihong or Weiguo. Shouting in a crowd would bring dozens of responses, which was inconvenient, so she changed it back.

Now, at an age when she should be enjoying life, she couldn’t sit still. Most people who can’t sit still might grow flowers, raise birds, practice calligraphy, or paint. Not Tang Yuru—she couldn’t live such a “petty bourgeois” lifestyle. She needed to work and create value through her labor!

Every other day, she would climb Mount Tai, set up a griddle at the top, and make Shandong pancakes to sell to tourists, rolled with green onions. She would also carry cucumbers or tomatoes, cooled in mountain streams, offering them to passing tourists for refreshment at a price—on good business days, she could earn over a hundred yuan, and when she opened her WeChat or Alipay account, there would be a long list of three-yuan and five-yuan payments.

Gao Jinghong had once casually mentioned to her, “Old Second just likes to beg with a golden rice bowl. Let her be.”

But Meng Jinsong felt that this Second Aunt lived with vigor, full of vitality.

These two aunts had no major conflicts, but due to different perspectives, they inevitably had small frictions. Meng Qianzi had spent time with each aunt during her childhood: with Gao Jinghong, she was a little princess in Western dresses, tulle skirts, and leather shoes with butterfly bows; with Tang Yuru, her hair was buzzed short with clippers, and she wore bibs and arm protectors as she tumbled and rolled through hills and fields. When Gao Jinghong came to visit, she nearly fainted from anger. Not wanting to direct her anger at Tang Yuru, she scolded Meng Qianzi instead: “Look at you, you’ve turned into a donkey dropping!”

This made Meng Qianzi very curious about donkey droppings for a while, and she would solemnly tell her little friends that she knew a girl who looked just like her named Lü Fengdan (a homophone for “donkey dropping” in Chinese).

…

After listening to Meng Jinsong’s words, Tang Yuru remained silent. Through the receiver came only the sound of her breathing, sometimes hurried, sometimes slow. Afraid she might be worried, Meng Jinsong emphasized again, “Qianzi gave me a look at the time; she seemed to have a plan.”

After he finished, silence fell on both ends again. In the night-shrouded village, countless subtle sounds, filtered by the darkness, became very light, floating softly inside and outside the windows, above and below the lamps.

After a long while, Tang Yuru said, “I knew it. Trying to take the Mountain Gall would surely lead to trouble.”

Among the seven aunts, she was the only one who firmly opposed taking the Mountain Gall.