The big pot breakfast was already prepared, with the mountain wind carrying the aroma of food toward the cliff edge.

After Meng Jinsong left, the crowd of onlookers began to disperse in twos and threes: no matter how magnificent the scene, once you’ve seen it, it’s enough. After all, no matter how long you look, it won’t blossom into anything more.

Shen Gun was a bit dazed, carried back by the crowd, hearing people around him discussing either how to lower ropes down the cliff or how formidable the flying foxes were.

Shen Bang and Shen Wangu had already squeezed to his side, flanking him like door gods as they walked: these two had woken up late this morning and couldn’t keep up with Shen Gun. When they heard he had managed to get to Assistant Meng’s side, they were both anxious, fearing they would be accused of dereliction of duty—they knew it was too late to make a good impression now, but still put on a show of attentiveness.

At the security line, Shen Bang eagerly pressed down the line to let Shen Gun cross first. Shen Gun didn’t notice at all, still muttering to himself, “Flying fox, this flying fox…”

Shen Bang quickly chimed in: “Yes, yes, our Xiangxi flying foxes are terrifying, with scissor hands.”

The scientific name of the flying fox is the red and white flying squirrel.

Strictly speaking, flying foxes cannot fly, but they have membranes connecting their body sides to their front and back legs. When they spread these membranes, they can glide from high to low places and can even adjust the direction and path of their gliding. This isn’t particularly frightening. What’s frightening is that their claws are extremely sharp, better than scissors, and they have a strange habit—they will cut any rope they see.

Before liberation, herb gatherers in the Xiangxi mountains would gnash their teeth at the mention of flying foxes: after going through countless hardships, tying ropes to descend cliffs, with one’s life trembling and suspended in mid-air… well, these creatures would come along, their claws making an elegant slash, cutting your rope with a snap. Is this just cutting a rope? This is murder!

So not just herb gatherers, but anyone descending cliffs here had a habit: either wrap two ropes around their body so that if one rope is cut, they still have a chance to escape with the other; or they would cover the rope with bamboo tubes, giving the rope extra protection to prevent it from being easily cut.

But whichever method, it could only deal with a single flying fox. If there was a swarm of them…

Don’t bother waiting for them to cut your rope—just jump down yourself.

Shen Gun finally remembered: “No, no, no wonder it seemed familiar. The ‘Classic of Mountains and Seas’ wrote about flying foxes.”

Shen Wangu casually replied: “The ‘Classic of Mountains and Seas,’ oh, that’s the book full of made-up stuff, right?”

This really stirred up a hornet’s nest. Shen Gun nearly jumped up, shouting fiercely: “Who are you calling made-up?”

Shen Wangu was startled by him, stuttering: “That… the ‘Classic of Mountains and Seas,’ didn’t it fabricate a lot of monsters and ghosts…”

Shen Bang was more clever than Shen Wangu. Seeing Shen Gun so angry that the flesh on his face was trembling and his newly fitted glasses were about to fall off, he quickly gave Shen Wangu a look and tried to smooth things over: “It’s not fabrication, it’s literary creation, riding on the wings of imagination to create a… uh… world of mountains and seas.”

Shen Wangu also hurried to make amends: “Right, right, I got it mixed up. The ‘Classic of Mountains and Seas,’ hmm, is indeed well-written, very touching…”

If not for Shen Bang blinking furiously at him, he might have gone on to comment on the tumultuous love story between the male and female protagonists.

Shen Gun’s anger subsided a bit: “Don’t think that the ‘Classic of Mountains and Seas’ is just fabrication. The ‘Records of the Grand Historian’ mentioned this book, and even Sima Qian wasn’t sure when it was written or who wrote it. Many scholars believe it was a geographical chronicle from ancient times, and this book, just from its structure alone, is very strange!”

The ‘Classic of Mountains and Seas’ has a structure? Shen Bang’s mouth half-opened, unable to continue the conversation.

Touching on his expertise, Shen Gun became animated, speaking eloquently: “It’s said that the ‘Classic of Mountains and Seas’ should include three parts: the ‘Classic of Mountains,’ the ‘Classic of Seas,’ and the ‘Classic of Great Wilderness.’ The mountain and sea classics are easy to understand—under heaven, what is there beyond mountains and seas? But what this ‘Great Wilderness’ refers to is unknown. I believe it should be a place that is parallel to mountains and seas but even more desolate, more strange, and more unfathomable than them… But!”

Shen Wangu was nodding continuously to show agreement when he suddenly heard a “but,” knowing there would be a twist. He quickly stopped his performance and pricked up his ears.

“But, if you browse through the ‘Classic of Great Wilderness,’ you’ll find the content is very chaotic and has little to do with ‘Great Wilderness.’ Apart from a few ancient myths like the Yellow Emperor battling Chi You or Yu the Great controlling floods, most of it is also about the sea. For example, the ‘Classic of Great Wilderness East’ begins with ‘beyond the East Sea,’ and the ‘Classic of Great Wilderness South’ begins with ‘beyond the South Sea’…”

Shen Bang interrupted: “If the ‘Classic of Great Wilderness’ is also about the sea, why not directly include it in the ‘Classic of Seas’?”

Shen Gun looked at Shen Bang approvingly: “Obviously little Bang Bang has been listening attentively…”

Shen Wangu rolled his eyes skyward.

“That’s right, the ancients also discovered this. Since the ‘Classic of Great Wilderness’ is also about the sea, meaning the entire book is about mountains and seas, they named the book ‘Classic of Mountains and Seas.’ One can imagine that if there were a part about the ‘Great Wilderness,’ then the book should have been called ‘Classic of Mountains, Seas, and Wilderness.’ At this point, the question arises: would the writers not understand even simple classification? If it was clearly about the sea, why move it to the ‘Classic of Great Wilderness’?”

Shen Bang was drawn in: “Why?”

Shen Gun spoke with an air of importance: “I guess, and this is my hypothesis, the ‘Shen Gun Hypothesis’: the original ‘Classic of Great Wilderness’ was erased or destroyed for some reason. The real version was lost long ago, leaving only the framework title ‘Classic of Great Wilderness.’ To cover this up, they forcibly moved several pieces from the ‘Classic of Seas’ to fill in the structure.”

It sounded somewhat interesting. Shen Bang drew in a sharp breath: “Uncle Gun, what insight!”

Shen Gun was quite pleased with himself, but hadn’t forgotten the main topic: “Let’s get back to the point. You can’t crudely say that all the strange beasts in the ‘Classic of Mountains and Seas’ are fabricated. For instance, it described a beast ‘shaped like a tun with teeth,’ where tun means pig.”

Something shaped like a pig with teeth? Shen Wangu quickly answered: “Isn’t that just a wild boar?”

Very good, the conversation was proceeding nicely. Shen Gun made an affirmative sound: “There’s also a line that says ‘on Mount Gufeng there is a beast whose form is like a fox but with wings.'”

Both Shens answered almost simultaneously: “Flying fox!”

Shen Gun nodded: “So this flying fox has likely been reproducing from ancient times until now. And don’t you find it strange why it has a habit of cutting ropes?”

They hadn’t thought deeply about this. Shen Wangu said awkwardly, “This little beast must be psychologically disturbed, specifically wanting revenge on society.”

Just thinking about it made him angry. Most animals are afraid of humans; even if you provoke them, they might not dare to bother you. But this little beast is strange. People are just minding their own business, lowering ropes down cliffs, not trying to capture it, at a distance of eighteen zhang away, yet it deliberately comes over to cut people’s ropes. Isn’t that despicable?

Shen Gun pondered: “Do you think it might have been trained to be this way? I mean, trained in ancient times, to the extent that this habit has been passed down generation after generation, becoming an instinct.”

Shen Wangu laughed in horror: “No way, why would anyone train it to do such a wicked thing? To prevent people from descending the cliff? Is there some treasure hidden at the bottom of the cliff?”

Shen Gun thought to himself: That’s right, there is something hidden down there.

Meng Qianzi’s group only reached the cliff by evening.

Even though two small teams had been sent to assist along the way and they could contact each other via satellite phone at any time, Meng Jinsong had been anxious all day. He feared that as soon as he hung up the phone, the remnants of Bai Shuixiao would haunt Meng Qianzi again. So he would call to check on their progress every half hour—but this was jungle trekking, taking shortcuts, inevitably involving climbing and rappelling. Half an hour meant barely any progress. Eventually, Meng Qianzi became annoyed with his calls, saying: “Is making phone calls all you have to do?”

Indeed, that was all he could do. With a large group camping on the cliff, they couldn’t proceed without her: she was a talisman of peace that could avoid mountain beasts, a pillar of strength and reassurance. Without her leading the way, they wouldn’t even dare to lower SRT ropes, fearing the flying foxes would cut them.

But he could only keep these thoughts to himself; he couldn’t simply answer “yes.”

Finally, when she appeared, the entire camp was stirred. Last night’s “moving mountain beast” had already been told with legendary exaggeration. Many people regretted not witnessing it themselves. Seeing Qiu Dong and others with injuries, limping along, rather than feeling sympathy, they felt envy bordering on jealousy.

Xin Ci, with a jacket draped over his arm, ran ahead, outpacing Meng Jinsong and his group. From a distance, he called out “Qianzi, Qianzi,” and shook out the jacket: “Come, come, put this on quickly.”

Look at how inadequately dressed she was—urgently needing his intervention to save her image.

While he was helping her put on the jacket, Meng Qianzi asked in a low voice: “Do I look that disheveled?”

Xin Ci also lowered his voice, speaking truthfully: “Your complexion isn’t good, dark circles have appeared under your eyes, but it’s another style, not bad.”

What matters is attitude—attitude overcomes everything. With the right attitude, dark circles, wrinkles, even tired eyes, and ill-fitting clothes can all be beautiful! Beauty is all-encompassing and should never be limited to exquisite makeup or perfect skin—his eyes, Xin Ci’s eyes, could penetrate all disguises and facades, reaching the true essence.

As he spoke, his gaze fell on the bandage on her thigh: the bandage was hastily torn from her clothing. After a day of mountain climbing and forest trekking, it was not only filthy beyond recognition, but blood had also seeped through.

Xin Ci reacted as if stung by a scorpion: “My goodness, your wound will get infected like this. Quick, quick, let’s go, let me take care of it right away.”

He pushed and pulled her along. After just a few steps, they ran into Meng Jinsong and his group, leading to another round of concerned inquiries. Finally, like stars surrounding the moon, a large group of people urgently escorted her back to the tent.

The bustling scene quickly quieted down, leaving only Jiang Lian by himself.

Jiang Lian hadn’t quite processed what was happening.

Having just reached the cliff, still catching his breath, a group of people surrounded Meng Qianzi and left, while another group carefully helped the injured Qiu Dong and others away. No one thought to welcome him.

It was probably because they didn’t recognize him. The few sharp-eyed ones who did recognize him were even less likely to come over and greet him, instead pulling their companions aside to whisper—

“Isn’t that the person who kidnapped Miss Meng?”

“Why is he here, too?”

…

No one knew whether they should receive him or what attitude to adopt. Usually in such situations, they would go ask Meng Jinsong or Liu Guanguo for instructions, but those two were busy attending to Meng Qianzi and couldn’t care about anything else.

So Jiang Lian was left hanging there.

He felt a bit awkward, neither able to advance nor retreat. The gazes cast in his direction gradually became less friendly, which was understandable—after all, who had kidnapped their leader in front of everyone?

He could only smile self-deprecatingly, again and again. After a while, he finally found something interesting: standing there, he was like a gnomon, and as the evening sun cast its light obliquely, it elongated his shadow on the ground, resembling a sundial.

If he stood there longer, would his shadow, like a clock hand, slowly shift to one side?

He stared at it for a while, but even he found it boring and gave up. After thinking for a moment, he reached into his pocket and took out a small twig with leaves.

This was what Meng Qianzi had given him last night: medicinal herbs were truly amazing—chewed up and applied to wounds, there was a slight pain and itchiness, followed by extreme comfort.

He didn’t know why, but he had kept a piece. Now it seemed he had made the right decision; otherwise, he really wouldn’t have known what to do next.

He looked around. The trees and woods were still lush. Perhaps he could go find more herbs like this twig? After all, he needed to change his dressing today, and it was better than standing here ignored.

So in the following period, many passing mountain dwellers saw Jiang Lian’s busy figure: sometimes reaching high, sometimes stooping low, sometimes going east, sometimes going west.

As a result, even fewer people bothered him—the mountain dwellers understood the principle of not disturbing a busy person.

Meng Qianzi finally returned to her own territory, with countless tasks awaiting. Not to mention anything else, she hadn’t brushed her teeth or washed her face for two days. Her entire body was covered in blood and mud, feeling sticky to the touch.

When she couldn’t afford to be particular, she naturally had to endure, but when she could indulge, why not go all out?

So without even taking time to eat, she first washed her hair and bathed, then cleaned and redressed her wounds. By the time she finished this round of activities, it was pitch dark. Finally, changed into comfortable, clean clothes, she sat down refreshed while Xin Ci was still unwrapping the packaging of her eye mask…

That feeling was like being reborn; that comfort wouldn’t be traded even for immortality.

Meng Jinsong entered with a tray containing Meng Qianzi’s dinner. There were bowls and plates of all sizes, from main dishes to meat and vegetable dishes to soup; everything was complete. The taste must be good; just by smelling it, she was already eager to eat.

Xin Ci removed an eye mask and carefully helped Meng Qianzi apply it: “Qianzi, old Meng didn’t want to bring me along, I came along begging and pleading. Let me tell you, if I hadn’t brought your clothes and daily necessities, where would you find anything to change into in this wilderness?”

Meng Qianzi was in good spirits, finding reason in everything she heard: “That’s true.”

Meng Jinsong glanced at Xin Ci with annoyance: eunuchs will be eunuchs, useless in emergencies, but as soon as things stabilize, they start causing trouble.

He coughed lightly twice: “Qianzi, we’ve made special arrangements for your meal. You’re recovering from injury, you need to eat well.”

Meng Qianzi made an acknowledging sound, tilting her face to allow Xin Ci to apply the eye mask on the other side. Suddenly, she thought of something: “Has Jiang Lian been taken care of? He’s injured like Qiu Dong; his food and drink should be looked after.”

Jiang Lian?

Meng Jinsong was stunned for a moment, his words ambiguous: “He’s been taken care of… probably.”

Meng Qianzi looked up at him.

She knew Meng Jinsong too well; just from his tone, she could tell if something had been done properly: “He’s been taken care of” would mean it was done, but adding “probably”—what did that mean?

Meng Jinsong explained: “I didn’t pay much attention, I’ve been busy here all this time. Liu Guanguo should have arranged it.”

Meng Qianzi said, “No ‘should’ about it. Call him over and find out clearly.”

Meng Jinsong went to the door and had someone call for Liu Guanguo.

Liu Guanguo was completely confused: “I didn’t see him. I thought Assistant Meng had arranged for him.”

Meng Qianzi frowned: “You thought he did, he thought you did, but where is the person now? Where has he gone?”

Meng Jinsong didn’t think it was a big deal: “Such a grown man won’t get lost. With so many tents in the camp, he’s probably resting in one of them.”

Meng Qianzi wiped off her eye mask and stood up.

How could that be?

Jiang Lian wasn’t the type to ask for help; she had noticed that last night. He would rather roughly bandage his wound than ask Qiu Dong for a single herb.

This was the Mountain Ghost camp. With no one to welcome him, would he find a place to rest on his own?

He was probably somewhere catching the cool breeze.

Jiang Lian, clutching a large bundle of medicinal herbs, climbed back up to the cliff edge. These herbs were quite particular about terrain—there were none on the cliff top, but quite a few on the lower slopes.

He had only taken a couple of steps when he looked up and saw a dark figure standing in front of him. Jiang Lian was startled, but thanks to the camp’s solar-powered floodlights, he quickly realized it was Meng Qianzi.

She had probably washed up. Her long hair was loose, and when the night breeze passed by, it carried the faint scent of hair conditioner, quite refreshing.

Jiang Lian greeted her: “Miss Meng.”

Meng Qianzi’s expression was displeased: “Where did you go? No one has seen you.”

That tone…

Jiang Lian’s heart skipped a beat. Could she be suspecting that he had colluded with Bai Shuixiao?

He raised the medicinal herbs in his hand: “I need to change my dressing. I went to pick some herbs as backup.”

Meng Qianzi said, “Using herbs last night was out of necessity. No one had any medicine on them. Now that we’re at the camp, we lack nothing. There are even doctors on the team. Why are you still gathering herbs?”

Jiang Lian was momentarily at a loss for words. After a pause, he found a relatively reasonable excuse: “Well… they work well, completely natural.”

Meng Qianzi made an “oh” sound and changed the subject: “Have you eaten?”

Jiang Lian answered vaguely: “Ate some berries… not really… very hungry.”

Meng Qianzi made an acknowledging sound, her gaze casually sweeping over his abdomen.

Somehow, Jiang Lian felt a bit guilty and instinctively sucked in his stomach. Thankfully, his stomach, being his own, didn’t let him down. If it had inappropriately growled a couple of times, that would have been embarrassing.

She maintained her indifferent tone: “So where are you staying tonight?”

It seemed she wasn’t planning to arrange accommodation for him.

Master Gan had taught him about the etiquette of visiting. Generally, when you visit someone, if they genuinely want you to stay overnight, they’ll enthusiastically make arrangements without you having to ask. If they don’t intend for you to stay, they’ll politely ask: “Where are you staying tonight?”

The subtext being: I don’t have a place for you to stay here.

Jiang Lian smiled, gesturing around with an unconcerned air: “Where can’t I stay? Any tree is a bed. That’s how I’ve been staying the past two nights.”

Meng Qianzi made another “oh” sound, drawing out the end: “That’s good.”

She turned to go back to her tent, took a couple of steps, then stopped: “Later, I’ll have someone bring you a bottle of mosquito repellent. There are many mosquitoes and insects in the wild. Remember to spray plenty.”