Since Meng Qianzi had gone up, with a hanging rope and an ascender, this final section wasn’t so difficult.
The three finally stood at the edge of the “Beauty’s Head.”
From a distance, it looked like a head, but up close, it resembled nothing in particular—just an enormous, stubborn rock. The highest part did have quite a few flowers and trees growing on it, though they couldn’t see clearly from far away.
Although they were still beneath the pit in the sky, standing in this position afforded them a view where “all mountains appear small.” The wind whistled, making their hearts feel lighter. Strange bird shadows flitted through the distant sky, their wings rapidly cutting through the air, emitting sharp, broken sounds.
Fortunately, with Meng Qianzi beside them, these flying creatures dared not approach. Otherwise, swooping down, with just one grab or tug from their claws, or one sweep of their wings, a human weighing a hundred pounds or more would definitely lose their footing—either sent skyward or plummeting below.
Meng Qianzi pointed to a winding downward groove high up for them to see: “This is called ‘Tongue Running Wild.’ When it rains, water falling on this Beauty’s Head flows down along this groove, twisting and winding, looking like a large white tongue moving from a distance. Our mountain gall’s riddle, ‘Beauty’s Head, hundred flowers shy, pupils drip oil, tongue running wild,’ has this meaning. My Great-grandmother Duan thought the first two lines were fine, but the latter ones were far-fetched, forced to make the rhyme.”
Jiang Lian looked up at the green covering of the cliff top. It was already midnight, and nothing could be seen, but he did have a strange feeling that something was wrong with this riddle, though he couldn’t articulate it at the moment.
“The next two lines are ‘No liver no intestines, empty suspended gall; death and life, one lifetime heart.’ Intestines refer to the small intestines. We don’t have a term for ‘mountain liver.’ The phrase ‘no liver, no intestines’ merely emphasizes that this stone peak only contains mountain gall. As for the last line, I don’t quite understand it either. My Second Mother, Tang Yuru, interprets it as meaning that disturbing the mountain gall is inauspicious and will necessarily cause one or two deaths. That’s why she’s the most opposed to disturbing the mountain gall.”
Alright, they now knew what they needed to know. It seemed the time had come to “disturb the mountain gall.” Shen Gun felt inexplicably nervous, his heart pounding wildly: “So, how do you get in?”
Meng Qianzi smiled and moved her body to the side, revealing the rock wall behind her.
Only then did Jiang Lian see that this section of the rock wall was different from the others. There was a faintly concave human silhouette, posed as if pressing both hands raised against the rock wall. Where the palms pressed, there were handprints.
Beside it were three carved characters—
“Dissect Gall Spot.”
These three characters were in traditional form, completely different in stroke style from the “Gall Qi” characters below. They were most likely carved later, perhaps Duan Wenxi’s handiwork.
Shen Gun suddenly realized: “A human-shaped mechanism! So you have a mechanism.”
Meng Qianzi said impatiently, “Yes, there’s a mechanism. Try lying against it yourself.”
From her tone, it was clear this wasn’t the case, but Shen Gun still enthusiastically went over and pressed himself against the human silhouette.
Jiang Lian saw his posture, quite like an awkward large crab, and couldn’t help laughing: “One key opens one lock. If this is a keyhole, you’re not the one who can open it.”
Meng Qianzi’s heart was beating rather heavily. In truth, many of the things on this journey were firsts for her, too. Being the mountain ghost throne holder and accompanied by two novices, she subconsciously always tried to make everything seem easy.
Her lips hesitated briefly: “Have you heard of the concept of ‘dimensions’?”
Dimensions?
Shen Gun asked curiously: “You mean the ‘dimensions’ in ‘spatial dimensions’?”
Meng Qianzi made an affirmative sound: “It’s also my Great-grandmother Duan’s viewpoint. I don’t fully understand it. From childhood to adulthood, my studies… haven’t been very good. I don’t like things that twist the mind.”
Jiang Lian wanted to smile. So she could admit that she “wasn’t good” at something.
She chose her words carefully: “Great-grandmother Duan believed that we and mountains don’t live in the same dimension. A mountain’s lifespan can easily exceed tens of millions of years, but for humans, a hundred years is remarkable. It’s not just mountains; we live in different dimensions from many other things. Take cicadas, for instance—they only live two or three months, and some say they have a seven-day life; or mayflies, which often don’t live beyond a day, hence called ‘born at dawn, dead at dusk’; or night-blooming cereus, a brief bloom lasting just a few hours—so we can only see their outward appearance.”
Jiang Lian pondered: “The meaning of seeing their outward appearance is…”
“It means seeing a mountain as just a mountain, a stupid enormous rock; seeing flowers as merely blooming and withering; seeing mayflies as born at dawn and dead at dusk. You can’t understand them the way you understand your own life and thoughts, but they have them.”
It was understandable to say plants and animals have life and thoughts, but mountains…
Jiang Lian laughed: “Mountains have them too?”
Meng Qianzi asked him in return: “How do you know they don’t? The mountains of the Great Wuling Source are said to have a history of 300 million years. Put yourself in their place—your life extended to 300 million years, and a mountain’s life compressed to a hundred years. Then, in the mountain’s eyes, what are you? And in your eyes, what is the mountain?”
Jiang Lian was stumped.
Three hundred million years was too long. If a lifetime were stretched to 300 million years, perhaps just furrowing one’s brow would take decades. In a mountain’s eyes, he would be just a patch of eternally unchanging background, year after year, year after year.
Conversely, a mountain would be like a violent little prince—from rising from the ground to eroding to bursting to collapsing, every second would be filled with intense activity. No one would point to a mountain to make vows anymore. Before “as unchanging as mountains” could be uttered, the mountain would have already changed.
Shen Gun stood dazed to the side. Usually, with topics like this, he would be the most talkative. But now, whether because the concept was too shocking or because the thoughts stemming from it stretched too far, he stood with his mouth half-open, his chest heaving violently, unable to utter a word.
Meng Qianzi continued: “The ancients said all things have spirits, so mountains naturally should have life too. You can’t conclude they’re just stubborn rocks or dead objects just because you don’t share their dimension, don’t understand them, or can’t see them. One of the easiest mistakes humans make is using their limited cognition to delineate and define this unlimited world. Tumors, bone spurs, and other anomalies grow in the human body; jade bracelets worn for a long time have their concentrated areas blur outward, making the color more even. Mountains are so vast—of course, they breathe, stretch their body’s muscles and bones, and change.”
Shen Gun finally mumbled from his throat: “Yes, Miss Duan is right. Perhaps it is such a dimension. The older generation often said that thunder and lightning occur when a snake is undergoing tribulation to become a dragon. But if it truly became a dragon, where did it go? One theory is that it broke through this dimensional space and went to another space. Between different dimensional spaces, there are barriers. Sometimes I wonder, mountains can live so long, yet humans, as the spiritual masters of all things, only have a few decades of life?”
“Perhaps it’s a dimensional issue. Human life proceeds in stages—this stage here is as crude flesh and blood, and the next stage might enter another phase, such as becoming a ghost. Ghosts are another dimension of space, which is why humans can’t see them. But what if there are passages between different dimensions? Or if certain special tools or talismans serve as keys that can open these barriers?”
He rambled on, his mind in chaos, and by the end, even he didn’t know what he was trying to express.
Meng Qianzi didn’t pay much attention to his words, just staring intently at the human silhouette on the rock wall: “We mountain ghosts can share the same pulse and breath as mountains. Many people think this is just a rhetorical metaphor, but it’s real—truly… sharing the same pulse and breath.”
She walked to the rock wall, took a deep breath, and slowly pressed herself against the human silhouette. Her expression was reverent, her gaze calm. In her eyes, there was no heaven, no earth, no self, no others—only the mountain remained.
Grand Matriarch Gao Jinghong had told her when teaching her how to dissect mountains that mountains have their power, just as the depths of the earth naturally accumulate burgeoning energy, causing myriad woods to flourish and flowers to bloom. Seeds swell and penetrate the soil, fruits tremble slightly as they finally mature—you just need to learn how to capture and guide this power.
Jiang Lian unconsciously stepped back two paces, also pulling Shen Gun back with him. It seemed that staying too close or breathing too heavily might disturb her. Shen Gun also knew this was the crucial moment, so he held his breath, not even blinking, only occasionally sticking out his tongue to lick his dry lips.
After an unknown amount of time, a light cracking sound came from deep within the mountain, somewhat like someone with a stiff neck who, after sitting still for too long, makes creaking sounds in their joints when they finally move.
This sound spread outward, gradually approaching the surface of the rock wall. Shen Gun licked his lips more frequently, a voice in his mind saying: Impossible, this can’t be possible?
As if specifically to prove him wrong, with a light “shrr” sound, a vertical crack burst open in the rock wall.
Shen Gun’s legs went weak, and he nearly stumbled while standing still. His mind instantly went blank as he watched the crack widen, then widen further. Strangely, despite the fissure at this spot, the mountain body didn’t shake much—barely a few small pebbles rolled down.
The crack only opened wide enough for a person to enter sideways before stopping. Standing back to look, it resembled a mouth opening on the rock wall, or like a cut made with a single stroke, creating an opening—the term “dissecting the mountain” was quite apt.
Shen Gun’s breathing suddenly quickened: Was this the entrance to the mountain gall? Did it indirectly lead to the box in his dreams that had puzzled him endlessly?
Meng Qianzi straightened up and said, “Follow me. Don’t fall behind. Quickly.”
After speaking, she took the lead, squeezing into the crack. Jiang Lian followed closely behind. Looking back, he saw Shen Gun still standing dazed in place and urged him: “Let’s go.”
Shen Gun woke as if from a dream, responded with an “Oh,” and stumbled after them.
The crack was very narrow, far more authentic than those “thread of sky” attractions at some scenic spots. The rock walls were cool, and inside, it was pitch black. In their haste, no one had thought to turn on their headlamps, so they groped their way inside. After just a few steps, Shen Gun heard that hair-raising “crack” sound again. Looking back, his curly hair nearly stood on end—no wonder she said “quickly.” As she moved away, the mountain crack slowly closed again.
Jiang Lian stuck close to Meng Qianzi. Although his eyes couldn’t see, he could sense they were constantly descending. After about a dozen steps, the confinement around them suddenly widened, and he bumped into Meng Qianzi. He quickly stopped, straightening his back to block Shen Gun, who was staggering forward.
Meng Qianzi said, “Let’s rest for a moment.”
Jiang Lian heard her breathing heavily and asked softly: “Very tiring?”
Meng Qianzi made an affirmative sound: “This kind of… mountain dissection is especially exhausting.”
As she spoke, she clicked on her headlamp with a snap.
Before the light came on, it was better. Once it illuminated the space, Jiang Lian immediately felt pressure on his chest, making it difficult to breathe smoothly.
This wasn’t spacious at all. True, compared to the crack, it was wider, but overall it was like half of an elevator car, narrower at the top and bottom, shaped like an olive pit. Forget sitting—the three of them standing face to face felt cramped. Moreover, the crack entrance had closed, meaning the three were confined in a small “bubble” deep inside the mountain.
Shen Gun was the first to lose composure. Closing his eyes tightly wasn’t enough; he also covered them with his hands. In this situation, not seeing made one feel more comfortable. Er Fu from ancient times, confined in a place with no way out, must have been in utter despair—probably went mad not long after entering.
Jiang Lian likely thought of this too: “Your method of confining people is quite… harsh and absolute.”
Meng Qianzi said, “It was used more in ancient times. Now, we also feel it’s excessive and haven’t used it again. It’s probably due to societal development. Before, there were human sacrifices, accompanying burials, and punishments like flaying, combing, and boiling tubs, which were all eventually abolished. Now, when suspects are arrested, human rights must be respected—they can’t even be beaten.”
Jiang Lian noticed she was still breathing heavily and said, “You should lean back and rest a bit.”
Meng Qianzi shook her head, about to say it would be uncomfortable, but Jiang Lian had already pushed slightly at her shoulder. She instinctively leaned back, her back suddenly touching Jiang Lian’s arm. Only then did she realize he had extended his arm horizontally behind her, perfectly cushioning her back.
This way, she was leaning not against the uneven rock, but against his arm.
Meng Qianzi fell silent. Her breathing gradually calmed, but her heartbeat began to race.
Men generally have thicker flesh, and Jiang Lian was a trained fighter with solid, powerful arms. One arm truly cradled her entire weight, making her seem delicate in contrast. Her gaze secretly slipped down to Jiang Lian’s hand, which was gripping the rock with visible veins. A thought suddenly popped into her mind: if this hand weren’t gripping the rock but slightly folded inward, it would be as if he were embracing her waist.
With this thought, her cheeks instantly burned hot, and the part of her back resting against Jiang Lian’s arm through her clothes began to tremble uncontrollably. Once uncomfortable, she always sought various topics to discuss, and now was no exception: “This is mountain dissection. Mountain ghosts of mountain shoulder rank and above are ‘buried’ inside mountains like this after death. When I was three, I grabbed the mountain circle and got Little Meng Mountain. When I die, my bones will be collected in Little Meng Mountain.”
Shen Gun still had his eyes closed, covering them tightly: “Meng Mountain… is that Mount Meng in Shandong?”
Meng Qianzi glanced at him: “Of course not. ‘Little Meng Mountain’ is a code name. Which specific mountain it is won’t be told to others.”
Jiang Lian suddenly remembered something: “So we’ve dissected the mountain, but where’s the mountain gall?”
This reminded Shen Gun, who opened a tiny gap between his fingers, blinking as he peeked at Meng Qianzi through the slit.
Meng Qianzi said, “There’s still a while to go.”
She drew out her dagger and scratched several connected broken lines on the rock: “We’ve just descended the first level. 1, 3, 5, 7, 9—we mountain ghosts can descend different numbers of levels according to our ranks. Mountain shoulders can only descend one level. My Great-grandmother Duan was a mountain bun and could descend seven levels. The mountain gall hangs at the third level.”
She pointed to where the broken lines intersected: “These are nodes, where we are now. At the third node is where the mountain gall is located.”
Shen Gun looked around, though his eyes didn’t need to “look around”—a slight turn left and right showed everything: “This is too… small. The air will be depleted soon.”
As he said this, he suddenly realized: “How can we breathe here?”
Meng Qianzi replied: “I told you long ago, mountains breathe.”
…
Similar to before, the descent to the second and third levels of the mountain went smoothly, especially the third level. Probably because it held the suspended mountain gall, the space had been carved into a stone chamber about the size of a room. When they entered, there were even crude stone steps leading down.
The stone chamber contained nothing else, only an iron chain—or perhaps bronze—hanging from the center of the ceiling. Due to the extreme dryness inside the mountain, there was no oxidation; it gleamed like new.
At the end of the chain hung a fist-sized stone, just like any ordinary mountain rock you might find anywhere.
Was this the mountain gall?
Jiang Lian somewhat understood why Duan Wenxi had left the comment “a stupid stone, nothing more.” Anyone who had gone through such tremendous effort only to find this would be greatly disappointed, even if they had found a diamond of the same size, let alone such an unremarkable stone.
He quickly reminded himself not to judge a stone by its appearance. After all, “mountain gall subdues water essence.” Though it looked unremarkable, it might have great efficacy.
He stepped forward to look, but mindful of his position, stood farther away than Meng Qianzi.
Meng Qianzi was much more casual. Besides, the purpose of this trip was to observe the mountain gall closely, so not only did she get extremely close, but she also weighed it in her hand and touched it a couple of times. Inadvertently glancing aside, she suddenly noticed Shen Gun.
Strangely, he was still standing on the stone steps, not having come down. As if frozen in place, his eyes were fixed on the mountain gall, his hands hanging at his sides, involuntarily twitching slightly.
Meng Qianzi found it amusing: “Didn’t you always want to see the mountain gall? Come, I allow you to look. You can touch it too if you want.”
Shen Gun’s Adam’s apple bobbed a couple of times, and he murmured in a low voice: “This is not the mountain gall.”
Meng Qianzi didn’t understand clearly: “Huh?”
Shen Gun stood motionless and repeated the sentence.
“This is not the mountain gall. This piece… is fake.”
Meng Jinsong hurriedly descended the cliff.
He couldn’t understand how Liu Guanguo, with his age and experience as a senior figure, could encounter a scene where “Brother Liu doesn’t know what to do.”
Many people had already gathered at the cave entrance. It was a shallow cave, quite ordinary. Anyone passing by could see everything with a single glance from outside. If not for seeking shelter from rain, no one would go inside.
Meng Jinsong immediately saw that steel ladders had been assembled inside the cave, with a pile of chiseled stone fragments of various sizes beside them.
He understood—the cave connected to an intestine, but not directly. The connection was at a higher point and had been blocked and disguised with stones. If mountain dwellers hadn’t conducted a thorough search, no one would have discovered such a secret.
Two mountain dwellers went to hold the steel ladder. Meng Jingsong climbed up step by step. After just a few steps, he smelled a pungent, burnt stench. Reaching the top, he bent low to enter a narrow passage. After walking a section, the space suddenly opened up into a sizeable cave. The burnt smell mixed with a rank odor, becoming even more pungent.
A group of people stood in front of him. Seeing Meng Jinsong approach, they made way.
Meng Jinsong saw Bai Shuixiao.
She sat comfortably on a rock, with a relaxed expression and a seductive demeanor. But her face bore fresh red gashes, as if clawed forcefully, making her seductiveness eerily strange.
More terrifying was the scattering of bats around her. Most were burned to death, but those in the closest circle had been cut down with a knife. Blood flowed in streaks across the ground. About a dozen were still struggling in their death throes, flapping their wings.
Bai Shuixiao still clutched one in her hand, seemingly having had its throat cut. She held the bloody throat to her lips, appearing to drink the blood or apply it like makeup. The fresh blood blurred her lip line, with several streaks sliding down, forming thin blood lines across her delicate neck and into her collar.
Seeing Meng Jinsong approach, she giggled, threw away the dead bat in her hand, crossed her hands as if bound, raised them toward Meng Jinsong, and said: “Tie me up, quickly. Are you arresting me or not? I’m getting impatient waiting.”
Meng Jinsong’s face darkened as he looked at Liu Guanguo: “You had no solution for this?”
Liu Guanguo was extremely embarrassed: “Assistant Meng, this woman is deceptive. She’s been staying here, neither hiding nor running. As soon as we met, she giggled, asking us to tie her up. This… if we bring her back tied up, who knows what might happen.”
Meng Jinsong gave a cold laugh: “So you didn’t tie her up and let her go? Or have you just been standing guard here watching her perform? A murderer playing mysterious tricks, and you’re intimidated?”
At this, he looked back at Bai Shuixiao, spitting out a word through clenched teeth: “Tie her!”
At his command, several mountain dwellers went over, and without explanation, twisted her arms behind her back and bound her. Bai Shuixiao didn’t struggle but stared at Meng Jinsong with a smile. As she was pushed past him, she suddenly said fiercely, “I will kill you. You will all die.”
Meng Jinsong smiled slightly and calmly replied: “Who doesn’t die?”
(End of Volume Four)