Shen Gun finally stopped fixating on the bird that was prettier than national liberation. He looked up at the sky in a daze, as if he could see through the tent ceiling: “Fog is rising, such thick fog.”

That wasn’t wrong—fog frequently rose in the Xiangxi mountains. With mountains, forests, and marshlands, the moisture was too abundant, making fog inevitable.

But Shen Gun’s subsequent mutterings made Jiang Lian feel bewildered: “Billowing in clumps, like rolling gray waves, covering half the sky…”

At this point, his body gave a shudder, and his scattered gaze finally returned, his eyes regaining their light: “I remember now, I remember!”

He finally recalled why he thought this box had been stolen.

Because when the dense fog covered the sky, those people who were originally by the bonfire or the pile of boxes became agitated. They shouted, some running in this direction, some climbing to higher positions on the box pile to get a better view.

Then, from the dense fog emerged a pair of hands—only hands, and human hands, skinny and bony—suddenly grabbing the edge of the outermost box, and with a swoosh, dragging that box into the thick fog.

So furtive—if not stealing, then what?

Jiang Lian felt Shen Gun’s description was somewhat exaggerated and distorted. Xiangxi was indeed foggy, but describing it as “billowing in clumps, like rolling gray waves” seemed far too fantastical. On second thought, it was a dream after all, which would naturally have distortions and bizarreness beyond reality.

A group of people VS. a group of bandits.

A pile of boxes VS. a pile of boxes the Kuang family carried when fleeing.

It matched up fairly well. There was an eight or nine out of ten chance that they were looking for the same box, or more precisely, the items they were both looking for originated from that pile of Kuang family boxes.

Shen Gun swallowed and continued describing the dream scene to Jiang Lian: “Then there was pursuit. All I could hear was the huffing and puffing of people running. The feeling was strange, and my perspective was strange too. In the dream, I wasn’t just an observer; it seemed I was among those giving chase, desperately pursuing, but…”

At this point, Shen Gun looked a bit lost.

As they chased, the fog dispersed, clearing completely to reveal a wilderness illuminated as if it were white ground. Looking up, the moon was large, white, bright, merciful, and gentle. A massive mountain shadow stood on the horizon, silent and weighty.

That was the entirety of the dream. Compared to before, it didn’t provide much more useful information: regarding the box, he still hadn’t seen its style, only knew its approximate length and width, and that there were many piled together; there were many people, but he only saw silhouettes—how they were dressed or even their gender remained unknown; there was a giant, distorted bird shadow, but that was an effect of firelight projection, its true form unknown—perhaps it was woven from bamboo strips; he also saw a hand reaching from the dense fog and snatching away a box, but this only further corroborated that the box had been stolen.

Jiang Lian didn’t miss the most crucial word: “Wilderness?”

Shen Gun said: “Mm-hmm.”

Jiang Lian found this word choice quite intriguing: given Xiangxi’s terrain and landforms, with nine parts mountains, half water, and half fields, how could there be a wilderness?

He tentatively asked: “Do you think… the place in your dream was in Xiangxi?”

Shen Gun firmly denied it: “No, certainly not.”

He gestured as he described what he saw in the dream: “Even at night, you could feel the sky’s transparency and vastness, the boundlessness of the land, and the mountains—magnificent, imposing, and endless… I’m not saying southern mountains aren’t magnificent, but it’s a completely different style.”

Finally, he concluded: “Northwest! One hundred percent of the mountains of the Northwest. I have experience with that feeling of the supreme mountain among all mountains, the central pillar of heaven…”

At this point, he seemed to recall something and muttered to himself: “Supreme among all mountains… could it be the Kunlun Mountains? Come to think of it, I’ve been to the Kunlun Mountains, and the atmosphere does indeed resemble that…”

The Kunlun Mountains—Jiang Lian’s heart settled back to reality. Although they were both looking for boxes, one was in the Northwest and one in Xiangxi, separated by no less than ten thousand li. It seemed they weren’t related after all.

So they would each rely on their abilities to find their respective boxes.

…

He picked up the empty dinner tray and made his way to the cooking area. This meal was already eaten late, and being delayed further by Shen Gun, it was now deep into the night. Many tents had turned off their lights, and the kitchen area was deserted—in the darkness, only clean pots, bowls, and utensils were neatly arranged.

Jiang Lian put down the tray but felt it wasn’t right to just walk away. After a moment’s hesitation, he found some dish soap and a cloth, scooped up some water, and squatted in a low spot to clean the tray.

The night watch, Mountain Ghost, was quite alert. Seeing a figure moving in the cooking area, he immediately came over to investigate. Upon seeing Jiang Lian washing dishes, he was both relieved and perplexed, still concerned that Jiang Lian might be planning some mischief. He decided not to leave and instead stood at a distance, watching him wash.

Jiang Lian felt mischievous and deliberately washed very slowly. Finally, he even used a dry cloth to wipe the tray completely dry before turning to leave.

He hadn’t gone far when he suddenly stopped and looked toward a large tent surrounded by many smaller tents in the distance.

There were noticeably more night watchers there, and it was Meng Qianzi’s tent. Most of the surrounding small tents had gone dark, but the large tent still had its light on. Jiang Lian instinctively felt that the light wouldn’t be turned off so soon.

As the head of the Mountain Ghosts, in that position, whether willing or not, she had to fulfill her responsibilities. With so many unexpected events these past few days, Meng Jinsong was only an assistant and, no matter how capable, couldn’t overstep her. Big matters and small, they probably all needed her final decision.

It was indeed… quite tiring.

Meng Qianzi had indeed been extremely tired these days, and with her injuries, she desperately wanted to collapse and fall into a deep sleep.

However, it wasn’t possible—there was a pile of matters that needed to be decided and settled. Fortunately, Meng Jinsong was one of her people, so it didn’t matter if she lacked decorum. She crawled into her sleeping bag with three inflatable pillows supporting her back, keeping only her eyes open, her ears alert, and her mind awake—all other parts of her body were resting.

But Meng Jinsong’s discourse about the “Cave Deity” made her perk up: “‘Deity’? Behind her is a ‘deity’?”

Meng Jinsong laughed: “Don’t get excited. This is just a local Xiangxi expression. Shen Gun said that in Xiangxi, deities and ghosts aren’t distinguished—in my view, it’s possibly a force that can influence people’s minds and actions.”

Meng Qianzi was struck by a thought: “Like the Water Ghosts’ family… ancestral tablets?”

A few months ago, two generations of leaders from the Water Ghost family, one old and one young, had come seeking her help and told her about a complex and confusing matter. They mentioned that the Water Ghost family had three ancestral tablets, simply called “ancestor tablets.” After a Water Ghost went underwater, they would attach the ancestral tablet to their forehead, and the entire person would seem possessed by ancestral spirits, becoming like a puppet, swimming back and forth underwater, busy nonstop, but after regaining consciousness, they would have no memory of what had happened. The Water Ghost family had tried various methods, attempting to have people follow underwater or conduct underwater video recording, but all had failed.

Meng Jinsong shook his head: “I thought of the ancestral tablets too. It’s somewhat similar, but not quite the same. The Water Ghost family’s situation resembles a brief brain occupation, or simply possession; Bai Shuixiao is more like being brainwashed—not just Bai Shuixiao, I inquired with Shen Gun about the situation regarding the Cave Flower Women.”

Rather than being crazy, it was more like being brainwashed into obsession: the Cave Flower Women weren’t insane; they interacted with people quite normally. They just firmly believed in the existence of the Cave Deity and the love pact between themselves and the deity.

Shen Gun again—Meng Qianzi frowned: “Has this person become an expert? Is his word reliable?”

Meng Jinsong was prepared: “I haven’t been idle these past two days. I had people investigate Shen Gun’s background. The mountain dweller from Chongqing specially went to pay respects to Wan Fenghuo, and Master Wan vouched for Shen Gun.”

“They said this person has no family, no sect, no school, seeks neither fame nor fortune. He has wandered his whole life, from the prime of youth to past middle age, half a lifetime drifting, truly just for the sake of his research.”

Looking at the current Shen Gun, it was really hard to imagine him in his “prime of youth.” Meng Qianzi smiled: “Your choice of words, coming in strings like that.”

Meng Jinsong corrected her: “Just repeating, these are all Wan Fenghuo’s words. You can see he quite admires this Shen Gun. I also contacted Seventh Aunt, and she’s not someone who believes everything she hears. She had already sent mountain dwellers from the Yunling area to investigate Foggy Town.”

“There is indeed a Ming-Qing dynasty mansion in the town, originally inhabited by an old lady in a wheelchair, which later became Shen Gun’s residence. They say the rooms are filled with either books or printed materials, and countless aged notebooks numbered by year. Judging from the yellowing of the paper, comparison of handwriting, and so on, they were indeed accumulated over twenty or thirty years. He also has someone living with him, seemingly a person with a deformity, with a very frightening face, who rarely goes out and has nothing particularly special about them.”

“In a word, this person is basically clean, can be trusted, and indeed has some substance, so I brought him along.”

Meng Qianzi made an acknowledging sound: “If he truly has some weight, it wouldn’t hurt to establish a good relationship. Having one more capable person means one more path, unlike the Water Ghost family…”

She was somewhat disdainful of the Water Ghosts. The Water Ghosts had a full name called “Water Ghost Three Surnames.” It was said that in ancient times, there were only three surnames, but even after thousands of years, there were still only three major surnames. They guarded their little secrets, viewing outsiders as if they were fierce beasts and floods, showing how deeply they mistrusted others—it was too petty. In this world, how could one survive without external communication and inclusiveness? Look at the Mountain Ghosts, who had long since evolved to include a hundred surnames.

Meng Jinsong nodded with a smile, then suddenly thought of something: “Do you know that Shen Gun has a girlfriend?”

Perhaps it’s human nature to be interested in personal affairs. Meng Qianzi was no exception. She was inexplicably excited and sat up, mentally reviewing Shen Gun’s appearance, then made a disgusted “Eww” sound: “He… still has a girlfriend? Women these days are really not picky enough, are they?”

Meng Jinsong also found it amusing: “You haven’t heard the full story yet, so don’t rush to comment. The word ‘girlfriend’ should be in quotation marks. That woman… had died before he was born.”

This was quite a convoluted statement. Meng Qianzi’s mind couldn’t quite wrap around it: “Died before he was born… betrothed before birth? The woman was born first and died shortly after birth?”

That didn’t seem right either. Wasn’t Shen Gun abandoned at the entrance of some small village?

Meng Jinsong didn’t keep her in suspense: “It’s said that he once went to investigate strange occurrences, probably to some Fengmen Village in Henan. In a farmer’s home, he saw an old photograph from the Republic era. In the photo was a woman holding a child. She was indeed beautiful but had died before Liberation.”

“He actually fell in love at first sight with this photograph. When the mountain dwellers went to investigate his home, they saw the photograph—it was framed and prominently displayed on his desk. Anyone who didn’t know better would think it was an ancestor from three generations back.”

Meng Qianzi initially found it absurd and laughed several times, but as she listened further, she no longer found it funny.

She slowly leaned back: “Actually, if you look at it from another angle, this person is quite passionate and sincere.”

Meng Jinsong was between laughter and tears: “Passionate and sincere, could these words really apply to him?”

Meng Qianzi lowered her eyelids, saying nothing more: in this world, how many people would go against mainstream values, not pursuing fame or fortune, not acquiring land or building houses, but merely for things they were “interested in,” eating irregularly, traveling thousands of miles, running about for half a lifetime? And how many people, in matters of “love,” could mix in no other considerations or calculations, disregard cold ridicule and hot sarcasm, not even care whether the other was alive or dead, but express love sincerely from the heart, daring to speak of love for a mere photograph?

This love, though rashly conceived and laughable, who could say it wasn’t genuine?

This Shen Gun was quite interesting.

There seemed to be movement at the door. Seeing Meng Qianzi lost in thought, Meng Jinsong didn’t disturb her and went to the door to speak with someone.

Meng Qianzi was still absent-minded when she suddenly heard the words “Jiang Lian.” Looking toward the source, she saw Meng Jinsong whispering with someone at the door. Finding it strange, she leaned slightly in that direction but still couldn’t hear.

Fortunately, Meng Jinsong soon returned, his expression somewhat displeased. Before she could ask, he spoke: “Qianzi, that Jiang Lian… why don’t we arrange a car tomorrow morning to send him away?”

Meng Qianzi remained silent, waiting for his explanation: he wouldn’t speak so abruptly without reason.

“This person’s background is unclear; keeping him in the camp makes people uneasy. The night watch just reported that Jiang Lian was sneaking around the kitchen area in the middle of the night…”

Meng Qianzi’s first reaction was: Jiang Lian might not have eaten enough.

“He might have been trying to tamper with the food. When the night watch went over to check, he was actually squatting there washing dishes. How is that possible? This pretentious act is too crude. But there’s no concrete evidence to pin on him, so I think we should just send him away…”

Before he could finish, Meng Qianzi burst into laughter with a “pfft” sound.

Meng Jinsong was bewildered.

Meng Qianzi realized her laughter was inappropriate and coughed twice as she sat up: “Well, just leave this alone. He just likes washing dishes, let him be.”

Meng Jinsong wanted to say more, but Meng Qianzi indicated he should just listen: “Jiang Lian currently needs something from me and is eager for us to complete our business successfully. Keeping him here will only help, not hinder. Besides, is he such an important person that you need to specifically arrange a car to send him away? When we break camp, just load him onto a car like a basket—won’t that do?”

She yawned, concluding this night’s conversation: “Alright, whether there’s a true deity or a false buddha behind Bai Shuixiao, we’ve now reached the Hanging Gallbladder Peak Forest. Everything will soon come to light. That woman has been missing since last night with no movement, which is unlike her style. She might be plotting something in the shadows. We are in the open, with Base Camps One, Two, and Three—we must maintain vigilance. Also, give me Granny Duan’s diary; I’ll browse through it before sleeping.”

Finally, she could be alone.

Meng Qianzi nestled among the disorderly inflatable pillows, casually flipping open the diary. Duan Wenxi’s classic small photograph fell out again. Meng Qianzi picked it up and looked at it for a while, thinking that the English man who died in the plane crash was both very fortunate and very unfortunate.

If he hadn’t died, Granny Duan probably wouldn’t have spent her life alone. The sentiments of that era always had a steadfastness bordering on the dreamlike, unlike this era, which was clamorous and turbulent, with gatherings and partings at whim. No one was anyone’s destination; even after settling, there was no knowing when they would part—modern people have no destinations, only distant horizons; destinations are ethereal, horizons eternal.

She stuffed the photograph back, continuously flipping through the pages before stopping at a pen drawing page, then turned the diary vertically.

This was Duan Wenxi’s sketch of the cliff descent. A single page was too small, so two pages were combined into one large sheet, requiring a change in orientation to view properly.

Duan Wenxi’s drawing skills were excellent. The black ink had slightly spread due to age, and the pages were old and yellowed, which actually added a certain vastness and haziness to this hand-drawn sketch. Through these thin, fragile pages, the thousand-zhang cliff gradually became clearly visible.

…

Duan Wenxi’s descent down the cliff was always praised by the Mountain Ghosts. She had hardly used any manpower from the Xiangxi mountain dwellers, relying mainly on three treasures: an ox yoke, a group of monkeys, and a bag of copper coins.