The ox yoke was a climbing and descending device common in Guangxi and other places before Liberation. Made of wood, it was shaped like the curved wood placed on oxen’s necks when plowing. When descending cliffs, people would place the ox yoke around their waist, and the rope would pass through a notch carved at the top of the yoke for controlling extension and retraction.

Duan Wenxi used the ox yoke to complete the first stage of the hundred-meter descent.

Of course, to guard against flying foxes, she cut her finger and left three “avoid mountain beast” talismans along the way with her blood—although she couldn’t use the golden bell, as a Mountain Bun with rank second only to the Mountain Ghost Throne, writing talismans in blood still carried considerable deterrent power.

For the next section, she needed to use monkeys.

These monkeys weren’t wild but domesticated. The Wuling area had many monkeys, and some mountain dwellers made a living by training them. At their peak, they would bring groups of monkeys to markets to perform arithmetic, dress and undress, ride sheep and dogs. Before descending the cliff, Duan Wenxi had spent many days with these monkeys, and, combined with her ability to “subdue mountain beasts,” having the monkeys at her command was no challenge.

So when she reached the end of her rope, with one sharp whistle, as many as thirty to forty monkeys of various sizes gave a wide berth to the path marked with “avoid mountain beast” talismans and rushed down noisily from the sides. None were empty-handed—some had bundles of long ropes hanging from their necks, others had torches of firewood tied to their backs. They squeaked and chirped, rustling branches and disturbing wood, creating a magnificent spectacle.

Where there were horizontally growing trees and twisted branches for her to step on, that was best. If not, the monkeys would tie ropes under her whistle’s guidance. In particularly dangerous places where footing was impossible, the monkeys would cling to the rock face, their bodies curled up like climbing holds, or they would form bridges with their bodies for her to climb on.

It was during this section that Duan Wenxi saw the group of black bats.

According to her description, dense clusters of black bats hung in layers upon layers on the rock wall. Their range was so wide and broad, similar to today’s giant cinema screens. They were packed tightly together, wriggling slightly, and occasionally some would open their wings and fly up, with wingspans of up to one meter long.

Duan Wenxi initially found it strange—in her impression, bats should live in dark caves. Later, she realized that this tiankeng was like a barrel, with a “lid” on top, making it difficult for sunlight to reach down—wasn’t it just like a cave?

Moreover, at this depth, visibility was already very low. Among that large group of bats, some occasionally opened their eyes. Normally, bats’ eyes shouldn’t glow, but perhaps reflecting light from elsewhere, they appeared as scattered points of light across the cliff face, blinking on and off. In the lit areas, one could vaguely see the almost ferocious pointed mouths and rat-like faces, making one unsure whether to marvel at this peculiar scene or to shudder with horror.

For the final stretch of the path, it was nearly completely dark. The monkeys held torches as they jumped to Duan Wenxi, allowing her to light them with her flint.

Animals naturally fear fire; this is why trained monkeys were needed. They had lived with humans for a long time and were trained to perform tricks, often jumping through fire rings, so they weren’t as afraid of open flames. Wild monkeys wouldn’t work—they would have been terrified to the point of wetting themselves.

Even so, after proceeding a bit further, the monkeys completely refused to go any lower—you might think you were almost at the bottom, where it should be dead silent, an almost enclosed place, but that wasn’t the case. Below, there were still sounds of wind and forests, as well as bone-chilling howls and roars. Occasionally, strange bird shadows would suddenly fly through mid-air—the monkeys became restless, jumping non-stop on the rock wall with their torches, preferring death to continuing downward.

At this point, the bag of Tongzhi and Guangxu era copper coins came into use.

According to ancient Mountain Ghost legends, the final stretch of cliff wall couldn’t grow even a blade of grass, let alone trees, perhaps because it was too far from light and unlike the forests below that could draw nutrients from the ground. But it had one advantage—it was covered with tiny crevices.

These crevices were extremely small; fingers could never fit in, and even trying to wedge in a mung bean would be difficult. But in this world, things can be wonderfully unexpected: there was one ubiquitous object that seemed made for these crevices.

Copper coins.

The thin kind, the cheapest copper coins. In ancient times, there were knife-shaped and cloth-shaped currencies, and now there were various imperial coins. With a slight tap, they could be wedged in, half inside and half outside, just right for a big toe to grip.

The Mountain Ghosts’ barefoot climbing skill showed its foundation at this point, jokingly called the Mountain Ghosts’ “One-Toe Zen.” This deadly dangerous path had an auspicious name: “Money Road.” The money “spent” on this road was called toll money.

Imagine a huge cliff wall randomly embedded with historical copper coins—truly the world’s largest and most complete exhibition wall of copper coins, except that very few people could ever see it.

The firelight flickered only above her head, accompanied by the increasingly distant chattering of the monkeys. When they could no longer be seen, Duan Wenxi whistled again. The monkeys, as if receiving an imperial order, followed her guidance, dropping only one or two torches at a time. The orange-red firelight passed by like floating lanterns, landing either on tree crowns or in bushes and grasses, always able to burn for a while, providing her with the final light—Duan Wenxi, measuring the distance to the bottom by eye and calculating the number of torches still available, whistled at appropriate times until both feet landed on the soft, thick layer of decomposed matter at the cliff bottom.

However, this was not the end.

The peak forest called “Beautiful Woman’s Head” stood in the center of the cliff bottom, with heights ranging from tens of meters to two or three hundred meters. Looking at it in the darkness, it resembled slender sky-supporting trees or giant human heads floating high above.

If one were to place that peak forest within a circle, the stone peak with the hanging gallbladder was not at the center but roughly at the golden ratio point of a certain diameter. Its position must have been calculated to receive the infinitely precious sunlight transmitted down from the “pupil” of the green cover at the top. The densely planted flowers on the peak could thus bloom, like a beautiful woman adorned with flowers, putting to shame the surrounding stone peaks that had the name “Beautiful Woman’s Head” but were completely bare on top.

Hence the saying, “Beautiful Woman’s Head, hundred flowers shy.”

From the landing point to the gallbladder stone peak, there was still a long way to go. It was on this path that she encountered panicked, fleeing white rats weighing up to twenty jin, and saw complete snake skins hanging on trees. Compared to her arm, the snake’s body must have been at least as thick as a bucket.

One can imagine that if she had not been a Mountain Bun and unable to use the “avoid mountain beast” blood talismans, this path would likely have been her point of no return.

Afterward, Duan Wenxi wrote in her diary—

“The hanging of the Mountain Gallbladder is akin to placing it in an impregnable safe, with its remote geographical location, the concealing vine cover, the dangerous cliff, the venomous flying foxes, and the ferocious beasts. Life hangs by a thread, every step fraught with danger, like treading on a tiger’s tail or walking on thin spring ice—only the Mountain Ghosts can descend, only the Mountain Ghosts can descend.”

When Jiang Lian woke up in the morning and lifted the tent flap, he saw Liu Guanguo walking by not far away.

This was a familiar face now. He hesitated for a moment but still hurried to catch up, asking Liu Guanguo to borrow a satellite phone.

Liu Guanguo was quite accommodating and quickly gave him one. He also kindly suggested that Jiang Lian go to the lower slope to make the call, saying that here, near the cliff edge, the magnetic field disturbance was severe, making electronic devices somewhat uncooperative.

Jiang Lian thanked Liu Guanguo and descended to the mid-slope via the rope ladder. The call was for Kuang Tongsheng. At this hour, his godfather would certainly not be awake yet, but it didn’t matter—he wasn’t looking for him anyway.

The caregiver answered the phone, his voice still hazy with sleep: “Young Master Lian?”

Jiang Lian glanced up at the height of the sun, though he knew the caregiver wasn’t being lazy: after years of looking after Kuang Tongsheng, their schedules had somewhat converged.

He asked: “Has Meiying or Wei Biao called in the past two days?”

The caregiver laughed: “Yes, yesterday. The first thing they asked was if you had called, and just like you, they didn’t use their phones but called from unknown numbers. Now, today, you’re asking if they called. Young Master Lian, are you playing hide-and-seek?”

This caregiver was good, his tongue not wasting words, explaining the situation in just a few sentences. Jiang Lian was relieved and also smiled: “If Meiying calls again, tell her I’ve resolved the matter, just have some loose ends to tie up. Tell them to go to Yunmeng Peak on Wuling Mountain and stay there. I’ll meet them there.”

After ending the call, Jiang Lian returned the same way, wanting to return the satellite phone to Liu Guanguo but not knowing where he was. So he asked around while heading toward the cliff edge.

There were security lines along the way, but they had all been lowered to the ground. At the cliff edge, there were clusters of people—Jiang Lian assumed the security was lifted and directly crossed over.

When he reached the front, he clutched the satellite phone and froze in place, completely stunned.

Yesterday, he had arrived at the cliff late, and being in the Mountain Ghost camp, he didn’t dare wander around to avoid suspicion, treating it as just an ordinary cliff top. Now, seeing the full view, all the hair on his body stood up.

Tiankengs weren’t rare. Over the years, he had repeatedly visited Xiangxi and had some understanding of the local terrain: Xiangxi was a place with many tiankengs. Looking through local news, villagers going out to chop wood and accidentally falling into tiankengs with fatal results occurred from time to time. It wasn’t impossible that such an undiscovered giant tiankeng existed—the Hanzhong Tiankeng Group in Shaanxi, considered the world’s largest, was only discovered in 2016, just over two years ago. Human knowledge of the natural world is far from exhaustive.

What was astonishing was: how did this massive green cover of vines and branches come to be? Was it nature’s divine craftsmanship or a human collective creation?

…

The sound of clanging and hammering brought him back to reality.

Looking toward the source, at one spot on the cliff edge, there were at least dozens of mountain dwellers either crouching or standing, busy setting up something. Around them were piles of equipment. With just a glance, Jiang Lian recognized single and double pulleys, helmets, static ropes, GO locks, chest ascenders, descenders, foot loops, cow’s tail ropes, and so on, in substantial quantities, almost piled into a small mountain.

Was this… SRT single rope technique?

As he pondered, voices came from behind, sounding like Liu Guanguo. Jiang Lian turned around, intending to greet him, but then stopped.

Liu Guanguo was accompanying Meng Qianzi and Meng Jinsong, walking while pointing to the busy area at the cliff edge, explaining the progress of setting up the ascent and descent systems. Meng Qianzi kept her eyelashes lowered, listening carefully, only occasionally nodding. When she inadvertently glanced up, her gaze swept across and caught sight of Jiang Lian.

Jiang Lian hadn’t expected to “meet” her like this. It was strange—the gaze was formless, the air was without substance, but her glance made him feel a slight pressure, as if bearing some weight.

As he hesitated whether to nod in greeting or approach to speak, her upper eyelids lowered slightly, her gaze instantly withdrawing, like a cold current passing by, diverted just as it approached his brow, leaving only a trace of coolness that gradually dissipated, soon merging into the air.

The three continued walking and talking, quickly passing by.

Only then did Jiang Lian take a deep breath, even patting his chest to calm himself, though he couldn’t clearly explain where this alarm came from.

As he was considering whether to entrust someone to deliver the satellite phone and slip away, a weight suddenly pressed on his shoulder as someone slapped him and cheerfully called out: “Little Lian Lian!”

Little Lian Lian?

Jiang Lian turned around to face Shen Gun’s beaming face.

He doubted whether he had heard correctly: “What did you call me?”

“Little Lian Lian,” Shen Gun didn’t find it inappropriate at all. “It’s rare that we chatted so congenially last night, like old friends at first meeting.”

Congenial?

And was that how “old friends at first meeting” was used? If he and Shen Gun could be considered old friends at first meeting, then what would Meng Qianzi be… a beloved family member?

Shen Gun moved closer and lowered his voice: “You know, I only give nice, easy-to-call nicknames to friends I can talk to. For others, I wouldn’t give them nicknames even if they asked.”

The way he said it, it was as if Jiang Lian had gained some great advantage. Fortunately, with the nickname “Lian Zi” that Kuang Tongsheng had given him, which was just as awkward, “Little Lian Lian” didn’t sound quite so jarring in comparison.

People’s mouths are their own; as long as it wasn’t too offensive, Jiang Lian didn’t care what they called him.

Shen Gun had been watching for quite a while, extremely excited, pointing at the descent system being set up: “Little Lian Lian, it looks like they’re going to descend the cliff! And I heard that with Miss Meng here, flying foxes aren’t a problem at all.”

“Mmm.”

Shen Gun was quite dissatisfied with his response: “Why are you so calm? It’s a tiankeng over a thousand meters deep, with a peak forest below! Do you know how rare a spectacle this is? And the species down there are all different from elsewhere—giant rats, twenty jin!”

Strange, how did he know there were twenty-jin giant rats down there? Jiang Lian asked curiously: “Have you been down there?”

Shen Gun waved his hand, indicating this was irrelevant: “I’ve decided to borrow one of their ropes. I want to go down too.”

His tone made it sound as if he wasn’t planning to descend a cliff but just go out to buy some scallions. Jiang Lian looked over there, then back at Shen Gun: “Have you done SRT before?”

Shen Gun looked blank: “What S…R…T…?”

He seemed to have heard Meng Jinsong mention it.

Jiang Lian enlightened him: “SRT, Single Rope Technique. In China, it’s called single rope technology, using a single rope for free ascent and descent.”

Shen Gun said, “Yeah, isn’t a rope enough?”

Jiang Lian laughed in exasperation: “Just a rope? Are you a spider? Or do you have extraordinary arm strength…”

As he said this, he reached out and pinched Shen Gun’s shoulder: “The flesh is a bit loose. You don’t exercise much, do you?”

Male pride made Shen Gun’s old face blush slightly. He said awkwardly, “I misspoke. It’s not just relying on the rope. I saw they have descenders—it’s amazing. They say you can slide down with a ‘whoosh.'”

Talking to a layman was truly exhausting. Jiang Lian said, “Let me put it this way.”

He bent down to pick up a small stone and wanted to find a string to demonstrate to Shen Gun, but unfortunately, this was a cliff top, not a sewing room. There were plenty of stones, but not a single string.

Jiang Lian held up the stone for Shen Gun to see: “Suppose there’s a thin, long string, one end held in my hand, the other end tied to this stone. When I raise my hand…”

He pinched his thumb and index finger together, slowly raising them: “What would you see?”

Shen Gun answered: “I see a hand, and a string… hanging a stone.”

Jiang Lian was speechless, though this description wasn’t entirely wrong. He had to reveal the answer: “If the string is too long and the stone hasn’t reached the balance point, it will spin continuously around the rope axis.”

Shen Gun opened his mouth wide, paused for a moment, then seemed to recall something, nodding repeatedly: “Yes, yes, I’ve seen that before. I remember, it does spin.”

“So, someone without the proper technique, like you, even if you go down, you can’t maintain balance. When you stop in mid-air, you might flip backward and keep spinning until you make yourself dizzy. Or you’ll keep swinging. The longer the rope, the greater your swing amplitude… You can imagine.”

Shen Gun swallowed: “Well, I could avoid stopping in mid-air. I could quickly slide down, all the way to the bottom.”

Slide quickly?

Heh.

Jiang Lian asked him: “Is the rope threaded through the descender?”

“Yes.”

“When you slide down quickly, won’t there be friction between the descender and the rope?”

“Yes…”

“What does friction produce?”

Shen Gun thought for a moment: “Electricity?”

Jiang Lian was momentarily at a loss for words. Shen Gun always gave answers that were correct but not what he was looking for. He had to provide the answer himself: “Heat. Friction produces heat.”

“Rapid descent could very likely burn the rope. This equipment has a weight limit, with an extreme speed of 3 meters per second. If you exceed this speed, after at most a hundred meters, your rope will catch fire.”

Shen Gun’s eyes widened with an “I see” expression. After a long pause, he finally said: “Little Lian Lian, you’re so… cultured.”

Very good. Since he was praising his culture, he would share a bit more.

“Also, it’s impossible to keep sliding to the bottom. The static rope used for cliff descent is generally two to three hundred meters long. Ropes over a thousand meters exist but require special customization. Their static ropes have a diameter of over 10 millimeters. Let’s calculate with a 10-millimeter diameter: a hundred meters would weigh about eight kilograms, so a thousand meters would be eighty kilograms. Looking at their equipment, they don’t have such super-long ropes. You climbed up with them—did anyone carry such a large pack?”

Shen Gun’s mouth opened even wider: No, definitely not. Crossing mountains was so tiring; apart from essential equipment, everyone traveled as light as possible. Just one rope weighing eighty kilograms was frightening.

Jiang Lian calmly poured the final bucket of cold water: “Since there’s no long rope, they have to join two together. The joining point is called a ‘knot.’ Regardless of whether it’s a square knot, a fisherman’s knot, or a figure-eight knot, it’s still a rope knot. ‘Passing the knot’ is a professional skill that requires training to master. So you can’t slide down; you’d have to pass at least three knots.”

Meng Qianzi’s voice came from beside him: “This is… quite knowledgeable.”

Jiang Lian froze.

He had been so focused on his explanation that he hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings. When had she come over?

But it was fine. Seeing Shen Gun’s impressed face, his recent performance should have been acceptable—a simple, unpretentious display of his talents, letting her know that Jiang Lian, though somewhat concerned with his image, was still a brilliantly shining star.

He turned to greet her: “Miss Meng.”

Then added: “…Just a little knowledge.”