Jiang Lian slid one hand up to secure the descender’s brake valve, while his other hand gripped Meng Qianzi’s right waist. He quietly counted: “One, two, three…”

As soon as “three” left his mouth, the descender fully opened. They instantly slid down at high speed. Judging that the distance was about right, Jiang Lian forcefully pushed against the cliff with his foot, and they swung directly toward the stone platform. At the same time, he exerted force with his hand, pushing Meng Qianzi outward forcefully.

The force and direction were perfectly measured. The rope, unable to withstand such strain, suddenly snapped. Jiang Lian lunged and rolled onto the mountain platform, then immediately flipped over and looked up.

Meng Qianzi had landed before him, steadily positioning herself between Shen Gun and the giant snake. The giant snake seemed to sense something, its head moving slightly, but still maintaining its S-shaped attack posture.

Caught off guard, Shen Gun couldn’t tell whether the situation was about to improve or if there was just another person to feed the snake. He opened his mouth wide, not daring to breathe or blink.

Suddenly, he felt someone pat his shoulder. When he turned around in bewilderment, he saw Jiang Lian.

Jiang Lian’s face showed post-battle fatigue, as if he were too tired to speak. He merely beckoned with his hand, indicating that Shen Gun should move back, to the side, and clear some space.

Shen Gun’s legs were weak. He could only scoot backward on his buttocks. He’d heard that snakes actually have poor vision but naturally possess infrared perception abilities, allowing them to “see” heat-emitting animals. Now his whole body was burning hot, fearing that his warm, moving form would attract the giant snake’s attention.

However, the giant snake seemed interested only in Meng Qianzi.

They were now in a standoff. Meng Qianzi had barely moved, except her right foot occasionally stepping out, tracing an arc on the ground before quickly retreating, producing a very light bell sound.

Bell sound…

Shen Gun shuddered. He had extremely complex feelings about bell sounds, unclear whether it was disgust or curiosity. It was said that bell sounds were the only sounds that could penetrate the boundary between the living and dead worlds—the voice of the deceased, capable of transmitting the unwilling murmurs from the underworld to those who could understand…

The giant snake was hissing and flicking its tongue again, each time more urgent than the last. The S-shape of its head and body became more pronounced. Suddenly it opened its bloody mouth, its head darting down swiftly.

With its mouth open, the upper and lower jaws separated almost 180 degrees. The entire head was no longer visible, replaced by a flesh-red cavity as large as a window descending to cover her, with snow-white sharp teeth inside, each standing like an inverted dagger, bringing a gust of foul wind.

Shen Gun couldn’t make a sound. Every muscle in his body was tense. One hand instinctively clutched Jiang Lian’s ankle tightly. He thought: it’s over—Meng Qianzi wouldn’t be enough for it to chew; with her slim figure, swallowing her whole wouldn’t even be a problem…

Unexpectedly, not only did Meng Qianzi not dodge, she stepped forward. Her presence seemed fiercer than the giant snake. Shen Gun couldn’t see her face, but he had an intuition: every part of her body, even her hair strands, exuded a terrifying ferocity.

She tilted her face up, directly meeting that giant mouth, letting out a low but frightening roar from her throat.

This sound seemed faint to human ears, but the giant snake’s attack instantly stopped. Shen Gun wasn’t sure if he was seeing things, but he felt that for a moment, the dense scales on the snake’s body seemed to slightly lift.

The snake’s mouth closed again, as if it had just yawned with immense satisfaction. Meng Qianzi raised her right hand high, her five fingers pinched together in the shape of a snake’s head, drawing a talisman in midair. This talisman seemed very complex. At first, Shen Gun tried to imagine the pattern her hand gestures were tracing, but later his mind became tangled, completely unable to follow. The giant snake’s pendulum-like head initially swayed slightly following her hand movements, but later became motionless, as if fixed in place.

Finally, Meng Qianzi’s hand also stopped.

After a few seconds of stillness, she whistled softly, flicked her hand to the side, and said: “Go.”

The giant snake’s body quickly pressed against the cliff wall above, dragging along and away. The movement was heavy, bringing down many small stones that pattered down, hitting the helmets of Jiang Lian and Shen Gun, who stood near the cliff wall.

Jiang Lian waited patiently for this stone shower to pass before raising his hand to straighten his helmet that had been knocked askew.

Shen Gun still hadn’t recovered from his shock, mumbling continuously, unclear to whom he was asking: “Is it gone? Is it gone?”

Meng Qianzi didn’t answer. She knelt and removed the pack she had been carrying. This was a lightweight version of the “mountain ghost basket,” containing everything from essential tools to first aid supplies and energy bars for hunger, even a small bottle of water.

She unzipped it and laid out bandages, cotton swabs, iodine spray, and other items one by one. Clearing her throat lightly, she asked: “Is anyone injured? Need any bandaging?”

Shen Gun quickly examined himself, finally finding an abrasion about half a palm’s size on his elbow. He eagerly approached: “Me, me.”

Meng Qianzi glanced at the wound and casually lifted the iodine spray, giving it a quick spray. The spray was so faint that without deliberately sniffing, one couldn’t even smell the iodine.

Shen Gun asked curiously: “Aren’t you going to clean the wound? Aren’t you going to bandage it?”

Meng Qianzi said, “Such a minor injury, just bear with it. Medical supplies are precious, don’t waste them needlessly.”

It sounded reasonable, so Shen Gun quietly stepped back.

Jiang Lian also came over and crouched down—just a few hours ago, someone had pointed out that having a mouth meant making requests, and he felt he should learn from that. He scanned the items on the ground and asked her: “Do you think I could also… conservatively use something?”

Meng Qianzi didn’t look at him. She rolled up her sleeves and said, “Turn around.”

Jiang Lian obediently turned and sat at the edge of the mountain platform. From behind came the sound of Shen Gun sharply inhaling.

Jiang Lian didn’t feel much pain, or perhaps his back had become somewhat numb. Before him stretched various shades of darkness, with tree shadows of different shapes on the cliff wall, perhaps even rare medicinal herbs.

The cliff top was probably in chaos, but it was too deep here for sound to reach down. Looking down, very far away, there was a faint light—perhaps some fire bat had fallen and ignited a tree or a clump of grass. But this place was still too far from the cliff bottom, so those fiercely burning flames, from here, looked only like several thin candle flames in the distance, swaying back and forth in the darkness, unable to break free or escape.

Meng Jinsong should be arranging a rescue quickly, right? But all the static ropes at the anchor points were destroyed, and redeploying would take considerable time. Flying foxes would be a major problem too. And then there was Bai Shuixiao—how had that woman appeared in a strange bat cave? “Falling into a cave, falling into a cave”—could that cave be the place where the cave spirit dwelled? How did she get in?

Many obscure dangers still lurked around, and many urgent matters needed resolution. But amidst these chaotic thoughts, a few words still firmly interjected themselves.

—She knew.

He hadn’t mentioned where his injuries were, and she hadn’t looked up, just said “turn around.”

She knew. When did she find out?

Jiang Lian lowered his eyes slightly. In this all-around quietness, only urgent and relaxed breathing and the light sounds of scissors remained. The wound cleaning was underway. His back began to feel a persistent, thread-like pain. Jiang Lian exhaled, grimacing in pain, but at the corners of his eyes and eyebrows distorted by pain, a trace of poorly concealed smile quietly crept up—seen by the cliff wall, by the lonely plants that had grown on this cliff for who knows how many years, by the tiny insects dwelling in the crevices between wood and stone…

Meng Qianzi remained silent throughout.

The layer of clothing on Jiang Lian’s back was indeed nearly worn to tatters. Fortunately, this layer of fabric had been there; otherwise, who knows what state his back would be in. Most were abrasions with many small bleeding points and tissue fluid seepage—certainly painful, but skin cells have strong regenerative powers. As long as there was no infection, healing would be quick. However, there were several diagonal cuts across his back from sharp stones, very deep, cutting directly into the flesh, even exposing the yellowish fatty layer. Combined with considerable blood loss, the wounds were truly shocking to see, making her heart ache. She could only try to be as gentle as possible.

Jiang Lian never cried out in pain, but his muscles would involuntarily contract. This was even more heart-wrenching than if he had cried out.

Shen Gun stood aside, startling and hissing sharply, as if providing sound effects. Meng Qianzi found him particularly irritating: the pain wasn’t on his body, so why was he making such noises?

With the wound cleaning complete, she prepared to use medical adhesive to seal the wounds. Shen Gun seemed to have recovered and suddenly remembered the giant snake, asking her: “Miss Meng, what did you do to that snake? It just left like that?”

Meng Qianzi replied stiffly: “To each their expertise.”

This exchange reminded Jiang Lian, who asked: “Was that the ‘Beast Avoidance’ just now?”

Meng Qianzi initially didn’t speak, not wanting to disturb him. Now she changed her mind, thinking that engaging him in conversation would be a good distraction, could reduce the pain: “No, that was ‘Beast Submission.'”

She carefully explained the differences between these types of talismans.

“‘Beast Mobilization’ summons mountain beasts to pass through, rushing out of their nests, charging violently. We don’t use this except in extremely urgent situations because it creates too much commotion.”

Shen Gun had already heard about Meng Qianzi’s “Beast Mobilization” feat from the two Shens. He offered his opinion: “This is more suitable for armies clashing in battle. I heard that when the Yellow Emperor fought Chiyou, they used beast armies—all kinds of bears, leopards, and tigers on the battlefield. Wow, what a charge, immediately scattering the enemy troops.”

No one responded to him.

Meng Qianzi continued: “As for ‘Beast Avoidance,’ it makes mountain beasts avoid me. Whatever space I need, they must clear that space for me. Or they can stay nearby, but when they see me, they must detour, maintain distance, and not interfere with me. When I first descended the cliff, I was using ‘Beast Avoidance’ to drive away flying foxes along the way. That group of black bats, if they hadn’t caught fire and lost their normal nature, would have avoided me, too. But unfortunately, it only worked for a short distance before things went wrong.”

Jiang Lian mused: “Then what about ‘Submission’? Does it mean taming?”

Meng Qianzi nodded: “More or less. In Qu Yuan’s ‘Mountain Ghost Poem,’ it says the mountain ghost ‘rides red leopards and is followed by patterned raccoon dogs.’ Red leopards and large raccoon dogs with patterned fur were all tamed and subdued, following mountain ghosts for a long time. But that was in ancient times when they still lived in the mountains and forests and could do such things. Now, having moved into cities…”

Naturally, they had to be more low-key.

Shen Gun asked curiously, “So after you subdued it, why did it leave?”

Meng Qianzi gave him a sidelong glance: “It didn’t leave—I sent it on an errand. It will continue to patrol this area. If any suspicious people appear, like Bai Shuixiao and her kind, they can’t blame the snake for not recognizing them.”

Shen Gun was greatly impressed.

So that giant snake, which had intended to devour him earlier, had now switched allegiance and become a security barrier? With such a creature around, they truly needn’t fear anyone.

Meng Qianzi also sighed somewhat: For ordinary people entering the mountains, the greatest fear would be wolves and fierce beasts, but this was nothing to mountain ghosts. As for dangerous cliffs, steep walls, high mountains, and treacherous waters—these were never problems either. In the forests, their greatest enemies were other humans.

She had never liked dealing with people. Who could know what shaped bones or colored hearts lie beneath a person’s skin?

Just like Bai Shuixiao—when she smiles at you, you must be wary of her knife; when she points east, you must look west, south, and north.

Jiang Lian suddenly remembered something: “Her sudden appearance in that cave—could there be some secret passage in the cliff wall that leads down?”

Was it possible she had ambushed them on the path ahead, specifically waiting for them?

Meng Qianzi pondered for a moment, then slowly shook her head.

The cliff was too high. She dared not say that their ancestral grandmother had explored all the surrounding mountains, but at least the bottom three hundred meters of the cliff had no caves, no secret passages, and no large crevices for people to pass through. That bat cave was likely considered unimportant by their ancestral grandmother due to its distance from the cliff bottom, or perhaps, like her and Grandmother Duan, they had all been visually deceived: when you see an entire cliff face covered with nauseating bats at a glance, who would think there was a cave among them? Besides, bats are dirty and smelly creatures that carry viruses—who would want to approach them?

Too complicated to explain fully, she answered vaguely: “That’s impossible. The ecological species below are all different from those outside. You saw that giant snake—even with all her courage, she wouldn’t dare come down. Our people have been on the cliff top all along; she couldn’t possibly have descended from above and then passed through the bat colony to enter the cave. I guess… that cave must be part of a mountain intestine.”

Mountain intestine?

Shen Gun’s heart skipped a beat: Mountain ghosts did love using human organs to name mountain features. This intestine… what relationship did it have with the mountain gallbladder?

Even Jiang Lian couldn’t help turning around: “Mountain intestine?”

They were now safe and resting, so there was no harm in talking more. The adhesive on Jiang Lian’s back would bond more firmly, too.

Meng Qianzi drew her dagger and started cutting and slashing on the platform surface, causing stone fragments to fly. Shen Gun watched with envy: Mountain ghost daggers were truly effective! Though perhaps not cutting iron like mud, they outclassed many famous brand knives. Perhaps Duan Wenxi’s characters were carved so vividly, partly due to having a good tool…

She carved a right-angled trapezoid, using the dagger tip to indicate the vertical straight edge: “This is the cliff face.”

Then, at about 1/5 from the top of the straight edge, she marked an X: “This is the bat cave in the cliff.”

The diagram was very simple. Jiang Lian pointed to the top edge: “This is the cliff top, where the mountain ghost camp is set up.”

Meng Qianzi nodded, then pointed to the sloped edge of the trapezoid: “And this?”

Shen Gun rushed to answer: “That’s the mountain! Our cars could only reach the foot of the mountain, then we climbed up.”

Meng Qianzi said, “Correct. Before I came, I looked at the mountain charts of the Hanging Gallbladder Peak Forest area. On this mountain, more precisely in the middle-upper section, there are quite a few caves.”

As she said this, she wielded her dagger and made several consecutive X marks on the middle-upper part of the sloped side of the trapezoid: “But having caves in a mountain is a very ordinary thing. Unless the cave is especially large, deep, or winding, you wouldn’t pay attention to it—and these caves are precisely very ordinary, the kind where you can see the bottom with just one glance.”

Jiang Lian had already guessed about eighty to ninety percent. He took the dagger from Meng Qianzi’s hand and drew a crooked line from one of the X marks on the sloped side, connecting it to the X mark representing the bat cave: “The elevation difference between the two ends isn’t great. It’s very possible that one of these seemingly unremarkable mountain caves, like an intestine, can lead to that bat cave.”

Meng Qianzi smiled slightly: “This is what we call a mountain intestine, like actual intestines, stretching across the mountain’s belly.”

She had initially found it strange: if that bat cave was where Bai Shuixiao had fallen, how did she get in? After all, reaching that cliff top was already extremely difficult, not to mention breaking through tens of thousands of nauseating black bats.

Now it made sense: she hadn’t fallen into the bat cave, but into a cave on the other side. That cave was in the mountains; even though remote, people occasionally passed by. Local legends spoke of cave falls. Generally, young women would try to avoid entering caves, but there are no absolutes in life. Western Hunan has dense forests and frequent rain—what if there had been a heavy downpour at the time, forcing her to take shelter in the cave?

After Meng Qianzi’s explanation, Shen Gun immediately felt that the term “mountain intestine” was perfect. On the surface, a mountain seemed solid and heavy, and most people would naturally assume it was solid inside—but what if it wasn’t? What if it were hollow inside? What if it had intestines winding within?

Meng Qianzi retrieved her dagger, wiped the front and back on her pant leg, and slid it back into its sheath. Then she instructed Jiang Lian: “Now your hand. Give it here.”