Meng Jinsong had no idea what exactly the Mountain Gall was—its material, shape, size, or function. He had privately asked Meng Qianzi, but she couldn’t explain it clearly either.
All they knew was that since the beginning of the Mountain Ghost clan, this object had existed. It was very ancient and extremely important. Years ago, the ancestral grandmother had decided it should be hidden in a secure location, so she ventured deep into Western Hunan and found an undiscovered peak forest. She suspended the Mountain Gall within a mountain cavity, and this nameless peak forest was consequently named “Xuandan Peak Forest” (Suspended Gall Peak Forest) in the Mountain Ghost’s maps.
The location was chosen with exquisite care. Hunan’s abbreviated name is “Xiang,” and Xiangxi, literally meaning Western Hunan, refers to the western part of Hunan Province.
Looking at a map of China, Hunan isn’t remote at all. It’s located in south-central China, with Hubei to the north, Guangdong and Guangxi to the south, Chongqing and Guizhou to the west, and Jiangxi to the east—by all measures, it should be a crossroads with access in all directions. Yet, as coincidence would have it, a mountain range called the “Xuefeng Mountains” runs north to south through Hunan, dividing the province in half, and this range happens to sit precisely on the boundary between China’s second and third topographical steps.
East of the mountains lies terrain similar to the Jiangnan hills, while the western side features high peaks, dense forests, steep gorges, and rapid streams—conditions unfavorable for external communication. Thousands of years of isolation meant that cultural trends from the east were blocked by the mountains and struggled to move westward. Even in the 1930s, when Shen Congwen described the area’s customs, he still called it a “Border Town.”
Though located in the heart of the country, it was treated like a frontier, proving the ancestral grandmother truly knew how to choose locations, deeply understanding the principle of “hiding in plain sight.”
One might think that after “Border Town” became famous in the 1930s, the surrounding areas would have risen to prominence alongside it. But this wasn’t the case. Due to poor transportation and cultural isolation, the region remained obscure until the early 1980s, when the now internationally renowned Wulingyuan sandstone peaks were discovered and developed.
As for the Xuandan Peak Forest, with its even more treacherous terrain and hazardous paths, it remains hidden to this day.
The Mountain Gall had been suspended there for thousands of years, and no one had ever thought of moving it. Like a foundation, it was important and existed, but was never mentioned or brought up—until several months ago, when the Water Ghost visited the Mountain Gui Chamber.
…
Meng Jinsong’s temple tingled slightly. “Are you suggesting… this incident is related to the Mountain Gall?”
He and Qianzi had harbored this suspicion too, but it was just a suspicion without concrete evidence.
Tang Yuru spoke with full vigor, “What else could it be? Has our Mountain Ghost family had any incidents in recent years? Now there’s a problem, and it happens in Western Hunan, on Qianzi’s path to retrieve the Mountain Gall. Do you think this has anything to do with the Mountain Gall or not? I said it long ago—some things shouldn’t be disturbed. There’s a reason they are where they are.”
Meng Jinsong mumbled, habitually short of breath when facing the aunts: “We weren’t necessarily going to disturb it. We just wanted to take a look first. Surely looking wouldn’t hurt, especially since Elder Duan back then…”
These concerns of Tang Yuru’s were shared by the other aunts as well. Elderly people prefer peace to change and dislike unnecessary disruptions. The main reason they had finally approved the expedition was significant.
—The former Mountain Bun (a title), Duan Wenxi, had entered Xuandan Peak Forest and personally seen the Mountain Gall.
Speaking of Duan Wenxi, one cannot help but mention her life—with tremendous rises and falls and a wistful ending, truly legendary.
She was the first in the Mountain Ghost family to study abroad and nearly established the family’s first international marriage. In her second year abroad, she fell in love with a British pilot and clearly expressed in her letters that she hoped to marry after obtaining her degree.
At that time, Chinese people had no good feelings toward green-eyed, red-bearded foreigners. The elders at Mountain Gui Chamber worried themselves nearly bald, dreaming of ways to break up the couple. However, events took a turn no one expected—the young Englishman died in a flight training accident.
Grief-stricken, Duan Wenxi disappeared from contact. Even her degree certificate was collected by a classmate on her behalf. She remained missing for three years. Where she went during those three years wasn’t explicitly recorded in the “Mountain Ghost Chronicles,” but according to Gao Jinghong, she probably traveled the world. When Gao was young, Madam Duan told her about strange and wonderful things, mentioning that in remote mountain regions of South America, she had seen people with blue blood, and speaking of primitive jungles in the Philippines where people lived with heads and bodies of contrasting black and white colors, like mandarin ducks.
After three years, Duan Wenxi returned to the Mountain Gui Chamber.
Perhaps influenced by those three years of travel, she couldn’t settle down. Every so often, she would exile herself to remote mountains and wilderness. Without exaggeration, she had followed every map in the Mountain Ghost collection and even ventured deeper, updating and annotating many charts. In her words, firstly, many maps were over a thousand years old, and over such a long time, due to geological disasters, erosion, and human damage, mountain shapes and conditions had greatly changed; secondly, in ancient times, people had limited knowledge and attributed thunder and lightning to spirits and gods, inevitably exaggerating certain phenomena, which needed correction.
With her determination, she certainly wouldn’t miss Xuandan Peak Forest.
In her diary, she wrote that the journey to Xuandan Peak Forest was not without danger, but with the ancestors’ route and guidance, it went relatively smoothly. However, she found that verse (or riddle) to be overly intricate. For instance, there was a spring waterfall that, due to the terrain, did not flow straight down but wound and meandered. The verse called it “tongue running wild,” which was laughable.
So, if even Duan Wenxi had entered Xuandan Peak Forest and closely touched the Mountain Gall, wouldn’t it be unreasonable if Meng Qianzi, who ranked higher than her, didn’t dare to enter or couldn’t enter?
…
Tang Yuru interrupted Meng Jinsong, “Back then, back then—when exactly was ‘back then’? Madam Duan entered Xuandan Peak Forest sometime in the 1930s. That’s nearly ninety years ago. Let me ask you, did you exist ninety years ago?”
Meng Jinsong couldn’t figure out this Second Aunt’s reasoning and answered honestly, “No.”
“Well, that’s it then. You didn’t exist ninety years ago, but now, ninety years later, here you are. Isn’t that a huge change? Chairman Mao said that all things are constantly changing and developing. How could the Mountain Gall of ninety years ago be the same as the one ninety years later?”
This argument seemed somewhat forced, but Meng Jinsong didn’t dare contradict her. He only tentatively asked, “Then… now that this has happened, apart from what’s already been arranged, what else should I do?”
When Meng Jinsong was eighteen, he had been selected by the aunts to be the “assistant” to ten-year-old Meng Qianzi. Assistant in name, he was in reality half older brother, half guide. After more than a decade of experience, he had handled hundreds of matters large and small, and was confident his arrangements were thorough. Tang Yuru probably couldn’t find any fault with them.
Indeed, Tang Yuru pondered for a moment and felt that, for now, this was all they could do. Gao Jinghong had already spoken to her, saying she wanted to let Qianzi gain some experience. With that message delivered, it wouldn’t be appropriate for her to hastily organize all the aunts to rush to Western Hunan for a rescue. After much consideration, she could only instruct Meng Jinsong to inform her immediately of any progress, then asked, “Do you have Madam Duan’s diary from when she entered Xuandan Peak Forest?”
Meng Jinsong’s gaze fell on an old chestnut-brown cloth-bound notebook beside his hand: “Yes, we do.”
“You should read it thoroughly, repeatedly. Sometimes, those seemingly casual sentences might carry specific meanings.”
These words were as good as saying nothing, but Meng Jinsong responded respectfully, “I will.”
After hanging up, Meng Jinsong felt much relieved. He hadn’t expected to get any good advice from Tang Yuru, but just as a county magistrate reports incidents to the city mayor, and a city mayor seeks guidance from the provincial governor—once the matter was reported upward, it always felt like stronger shoulders were sharing the burden, making it easier to breathe.
He casually picked up the chestnut-brown diary and opened it. On the title page, a silver photo corner was coming loose, and a black and white photograph slipped out.
Quick-eyed and quick-handed, Meng Jinsong caught it and held it up to look.
It was a portrait of Duan Wenxi, taken shortly before she left for England. In the photo, she was only in her twenties, dressed in Western clothes, wearing a delicate small hat adorned with a veil, her face full of mischief. That infectious energy seemed ready to burst not only through the dull, rigid backdrop but also through the dull, rigid era itself.
Meng Jinsong inserted the photo back into the corner.
In her later years, like most elderly people, Duan Wenxi often reminisced about her past and present lives and developed a strong interest in what happens after death.
She had heard that in ancient China, there was a method called “Rhinoceros Illumination”—burning a rhinoceros horn could connect to the netherworld and allow one to see deceased relatives. So she obtained a fine rhinoceros horn and lit it in the dead of night, hoping to see her lover from years ago once more.
Of course, she saw nothing. Most people would have realized they’d been deceived and laughed it off, but not Duan Wenxi. She believed that perhaps her lover had already reincarnated and moved on to his next life, so burning a rhinoceros horn wouldn’t reveal him. Only burning a dragon horn, called a Dragon Candle, could illuminate the next life.
She had heard from somewhere that the Kunlun Mountains were the “ancestral dragon vein” of China, and that dragon remains existed within the mountains. So in the 1970s, disregarding that she was already over seventy, she journeyed alone to the Kunlun Mountains, where she encountered an avalanche and never returned.
Gazing at the photograph, Meng Jinsong let out a long sigh.
This Elder Duan had truly been both brilliant and foolish throughout her life. How could someone so clear-minded and intelligent in her youth, who insisted on scientific evidence for everything, become so stubborn and nearly superstitious in her old age?
After all, dragons don’t exist in this world.
Meng Qianzi panted as she walked with a limp, her head repeatedly growing heavy. She made a fist and was about to knock it against the side of her head once or twice when she heard rustling footsteps behind her.
Good, Jiang Lian had followed. She immediately stood straight, no longer limping, held her head even higher, and instantly covered her entire face with a haughty expression, like putting on a mask.
Looking back, it was indeed Jiang Lian.
Meng Qianzi waited for him to speak first. The scene when they parted earlier had been quite awkward, and whatever the first person said now would reveal much about their intelligence and emotional awareness.
Jiang Lian smiled, acting as if nothing had happened: “I thought about it and decided I should come. You can’t handle Bai Shuixiao alone.”
Meng Qianzi almost admired him. He behaved as if that small conflict had never occurred.
If Jiang Lian were to become an actor, he would be perfect for it—easily handling any scene transition: rage in one scene, sorrow in the next, romantic passion in the following, without needing transitions or connections, immediately getting into character.
Meng Qianzi said, “I can’t handle Bai Shuixiao alone?”
If it were Meng Jinsong hearing this tone, he would likely have fallen silent immediately. If it were Xin Ci, he would have sided with her like a comic foil: “Who says so? When has our Qianzi ever feared anyone?”
But this was Jiang Lian.
He nodded, “Yes, you probably can’t handle her. Even with me added, we might not have much chance of winning.”
He gestured toward the direction Bai Shuixiao had gone: “Those knife wounds on her body were self-inflicted. A beautiful woman usually values her body nearly as much as her appearance. For her to cut herself so decisively shows she doesn’t care about herself.”
“Someone who doesn’t care about themselves would care even less about others. She acts without taboos or boundaries. Could you do that?”
“Probably not, right? I couldn’t either. So even together, we’re not as ruthless as she is. Ruthless people might not always succeed, but their chances of success are certainly much higher.”
Having said that, he pointed to a nearby tree about three or four meters tall: “Let’s use that one.”
Meng Qianzi didn’t understand: “What?”
Jiang Lian walked directly to the tree, squatted at its base with his back to her, and patted his right shoulder: “Step up here.”
Meng Qianzi looked at him, then at the tree: “What for?”
“Miss, you can’t walk properly right now, and you’re making too much noise. You following Bai Shuixiao would be too much like child’s play.”
“Let me go instead. I followed her all last night—once familiar, twice easy. Besides, she won’t travel through the night. She’s injured and has already suffered at Ma Biaozi’s hands. She’ll find a place to rest.”
“You should rest here and recover quickly. After I’ve scouted, I’ll come back for you.”
Meng Qianzi stood in place for a few seconds, a barely perceptible smile passing across her lips, though her tone remained aloof: “Very well.”
She stepped forward and onto Jiang Lian’s shoulder. The tree wasn’t particularly tall. Jiang Lian didn’t need to climb; he just needed to stand up and use his height to boost her up.
Meng Qianzi climbed onto a branch and looked down. Jiang Lian looked up at her and waved: “I’m off then.”
His eyes were very bright, though not particularly noticeable during the day.
Probably because everything is bright during the day.
Watching Jiang Lian walk away, Meng Qianzi leaned against a thick, angled branch and lay down, letting out a long breath.
She certainly knew that with her current strength, she couldn’t keep up with Bai Shuixiao, but the opportunity was rare—the reason she had put on a strong front was to get Jiang Lian to follow Bai Shuixiao. After all, she had no choice but to use him.
He had indeed followed and gone, everything progressing smoothly, which gave her a small sense of satisfaction.
She didn’t feel there was anything inappropriate about using him. In the adult world, everything was a fair trade with a price: Jiang Lian had always wanted something, and what he wanted, she could afford to give.
What else could it be? Why would he abandon an ill and endangered friend to busy himself for her unless it was because of chivalry, heroism, or because he liked her and wanted to be good to her?
Meng Qianzi scoffed at the thought.
Transactions were good; she liked transactions. Fair deals made one feel at ease, just like what Elder Mother had told her years ago: “Zi bao’er, how could you be so confused? In this world, do you think some people will like you, love you, and want to give to you without reason? It’s not like that. Everything has a price.”
Everything has a price.
Meng Qianzi closed her eyes and dozed for a while, being awakened by a sound in her half-sleep. When she opened her eyes, Jiang Lian had returned.
He sat in the fork of the tree trunk and said softly, “Bai Shuixiao is also sleeping in a tree, just ahead. She probably won’t leave for a while. Let’s rest now, and I’ll check again before dawn.”
After speaking, he placed his right arm behind his head and leaned back. At first, he was breathing heavily, probably tired from running back and forth, but gradually he calmed down. In the darkness, she could only see his Adam’s apple and chest rising and falling slightly.
Meng Qianzi, having just had a short nap, felt more energetic. Supporting her chin with her hand, she asked him, “What does Kuang Meiying’s great-grandmother have to do with her illness?”
Jiang Lian’s breathing halted momentarily. After a pause, he slowly opened his eyes, his pupils reflecting the vast sky.
The weather was nice tonight. The sky was nearly indigo, and perhaps because they were deep in the mountains, there were many stars, like countless tiny pearl-like lights smeared across the celestial curtain, resembling many elusive thoughts and obscure secrets.
He said, “It’s a hereditary disease. Every woman in the Kuang family probably has this illness.”