Jiang Lian parked his car not far from the entrance of the intercity bus station at the urban-rural junction, then opened the window.

His original intention was to breathe some fresh air and feel the pulse of public life, but outside was too noisy. The long-distance buses coming and going raised yellow dust and acrid smoke, while the row of vendors at the entrance kept shouting and frequently quarreling with passengers. Jiang Lian found it disturbing and closed the window again.

The window was tinted amber, and once closed, the outside world appeared colored, distorted, and unfamiliar.

Checking the time, he realized he had arrived early. Shen Gun should still be on his way.

Jiang Lian reclined his seat, lay back, and closed his eyes. After a while, he fumbled to open the glove compartment and put on an eye mask.

Today marked the end of Kuang Tongsheng’s seven-day mourning period.

Kuang Tongsheng had been blessed by heaven, living to 106 years old—a joyous departure, as it were.

Jiang Lian’s party of three had caught a flight that night, arriving around two in the morning. They had originally headed straight for the hospital, but midway received a call from the caretaker saying Kuang Tongsheng insisted on leaving the hospital.

Kuang Tongsheng, a man of the old school, had no fondness for hospitals. He was determined to die in his own home, in his bed.

So they changed direction and hurried to the old residence: a countryside estate near mountains and water, like a small resort village that never opened to the public. Kuang Tongsheng had deliberately chosen this secluded location because cities were too noisy with too many prying eyes, making secrets too easily leak.

Nearby villagers all knew that a wealthy overseas Chinese returnee lived there, who had built shopping centers and orphanages for the county, and had used his old business connections to bring in foreign investments. All successive county leaders had shown great respect to the old gentleman.

When they arrived at the old residence, Kuang Tongsheng had just fallen asleep. The wavering line on the heart monitor made one’s scalp tingle, and looking at it longer made it difficult to breathe.

Jiang Lian called the caretaker aside and asked about Kuang Tongsheng’s reaction when he saw the picture of the woman in the white smock holding an infant.

He had imagined the scene would be intense, emotional, tearful, and relieved, but the caretaker’s answer was none of these.

The caretaker said he just stared at it, sighed, and then closed his eyes, appearing very tired. Fearing the old man would exhaust himself, the caretaker had set the picture aside.

Later, Kuang Tongsheng woke once or twice more, each time in worse condition, and never mentioned wanting to see the picture again.

How could that be? After fixating on it for a lifetime, how could he be so calm?

Jiang Lian pondered for a moment, then found Kuang Meiying and said he wanted to apply the Divine Eye one more time.

Kuang Meiying, with reddened eyes, said to him: “Things have come to this point, why make more trouble?”

Jiang Lian said: “This time, not for you, not for the box, not for those matters of bygone years, but solely for the picture Master Gan made.”

…

When Kuang Tongsheng woke again, all three were gathered around his bedside. Kuang Tongsheng weakly raised his eyes, his gaze moving from one face to another. He did not want to speak; his words had been recorded in his will years ago. Once he closed his eyes completely, the lawyer would arrange everything.

Seeing his breath failing and eyelids gradually closing, Jiang Lian said: “Master Gan, look at this.”

He unfolded the picture before Kuang Tongsheng.

It was the young Kuang Tongsheng, lying prone in the grass.

Kuang Tongsheng managed to open his eyes a crack again. At first, he didn’t recognize it, finding the person in the painting strangely unfamiliar.

He kept staring, his eyes opening wider, and a final glimmer of light gathered in his dim pupils.

His lips began to tremble. His arms, which could barely move, slowly raised to grasp the edges of the picture. Because his hands shook so badly, the picture also trembled constantly, making a fluttering sound as if blown by the wind.

Kuang Meiying wanted to reach out and help, but Jiang Lian stopped her.

Kuang Tongsheng began to cry, his eyes cloudy, his tears just as cloudy.

He rasped: “This life, my whole life…”

In this moment, his eyes saw neither life nor death, neither the past, nor the little Cloud Empress who had knocked on his door wearing a tiger-head hat, nor the beautiful woman in glass silk stockings and a white smock.

Only himself.

Finally, he grabbed one of Jiang Lian’s wrists and said to him, “Lian-zi, don’t be like me. Know when to quit while you’re ahead, you…”

His voice grew fainter, his breath weaker. As he uttered the final “you,” he breathed his last.

Heaven was both generous and stingy, giving him 106 years yet unwilling to extend even a few more seconds.

This became Kuang Meiying’s lifelong regret: her great-grandfather hadn’t looked at her once before dying, nor spoken a single word to her.

Only Jiang Lian knew that Kuang Tongsheng, on the verge of death, had suddenly gained clarity and let everything go: in his lifetime, he had done too much for others, only realizing as life ebbed away that he had lived entirely for others, neglecting only himself.

—This life, my whole life…

It was finally complete.

After Kuang Tongsheng passed, the lawyer was the first to appear. Kuang Meiying, Jiang Lian, and Wei Biao were each led to separate rooms.

Jiang Lian was informed that Kuang Tongsheng had divided his assets into six portions, distributed in a 3:2:1 ratio, with Jiang Lian receiving two parts.

He also received the will, a USB drive with a video meant only for him. The lawyer, unable to be present for this private matter, took his leave, joking as he departed: “What a pity. The old master was once the famous retail king of Southeast Asia, with a fortune of hundreds of millions already in the 1990s. Back then, a Shanghai apartment cost only tens of thousands. Had he invested in real estate, wouldn’t he have amassed hundreds of billions by now? Your share would have been much larger.”

Jiang Lian smiled and said, “How much food one eats in a lifetime, and how big a bowl one holds, Heaven decides early on. No need for regrets.”

After seeing the lawyer off, he played the video.

The video had been recorded by Kuang Tongsheng several years earlier. At that time, he wasn’t yet paralyzed, was still in good spirits, and spoke with vigor. He began by asking: “Lian-zi, you didn’t expect I would leave you so much money, did you?”

Honestly, his tone and manner were somewhat uncomfortable, but Jiang Lian felt calm inside and even murmured in response: “Yes, I didn’t expect it.”

“I saw early on that you had some thoughts in your mind, though you never spoke of them. Master Gan doesn’t want you to feel slighted. Those who work for me, Kuang Tongsheng, I won’t treat poorly—Master Gan just hopes you’ll be wholeheartedly dedicated and keep Meiying’s matter in your heart. If she can live peacefully in this life, I’ll rest easy down below.”

In truth, whether or not he was given money, he would have investigated Meiying’s case to the very end. Kuang Tongsheng needn’t have worried whether he had any thoughts about it.

This Master Gan was a shrewd man. By giving him an unexpected fortune, he hoped Jiang Lian would feel indebted to him and not betray his trust.

But what truly moved Jiang Lian was the touch of warmth Kuang Tongsheng had conveyed when holding his hand before death.

—Lian-zi, don’t be like me. Know when to quit while you’re ahead.

He didn’t want him to follow the same path and also sacrifice a lifetime.

Jiang Lian turned off the video and softly said, “Rest assured.”

After that, the funeral arrangements truly began. Kuang Tongsheng had taken funeral matters very seriously, stipulating that even if he was ultimately cremated and placed in an urn, all rituals should be conducted according to his memory.

These were funeral customs from Hunan in the 1920s and 30s, no longer widely practiced.

For instance, after washing the body and changing the clothes, the left hand should hold a peach wood staff and the right hand should grasp a handkerchief—because the deceased still had a long journey on the Yellow Spring Road, the peach wood staff was for beating off wild dogs encountered along the way, and the handkerchief was for wiping sweat when tired from walking.

Another example: when the coffin was carried in, firecrackers should be set off in welcome, and a mixture of tung oil and rosin should be heated into a liquid to coat the inside of the coffin.

Also, mourning banners should be erected in the courtyard, and sky lanterns lit. The bamboo poles for the sky lanterns had to bear fresh green bamboo leaves, and the lanterns had to be lit every night until the burial.

…

Kuang Meiying couldn’t handle these tasks, and while Wei Biao was good for physical labor, his mind became muddled when there were too many tasks. So everything fell to Jiang Lian—issuing instructions one by one, making arrangements item by item. Though they had hired a professional funeral company, they too were unfamiliar with old social customs, so they came to him for everything big and small. Even the peach wood staff had to be the style he approved before ordering. From dawn till bedtime, he heard “Young Master Lian” countless times.

To say he was busy to the point that his feet never touched the ground was no exaggeration. Only in the rarest moments, when time briefly returned to his control, would he think of certain people, certain matters. He would take out his phone, open different pages to see if anyone had added him or if there were new messages.

When there weren’t any, he would smile, tuck his phone back in his pocket, raise his head to watch the slowly drifting clouds and the cool leaves rustling in the wind, thinking: How quickly time passes, another day gone.

This reminded him of an old saying from western Hunan: “A year flies by madly, a lifetime flies by just as madly.”

How vivid—a lifetime is a gust of wind, also a fit of madness. Once the wind passes, once the madness ends, it’s all over.

One night, he was awakened by an incoming text message.

It was from an unfamiliar number, but from the content, he instinctively knew it was Shen Gun, so he called back.

Sure enough, Shen Gun was delighted on the other end: “Little Lian-Lian, you’re still awake? I was going to call, but Liu Guanuo said it was so late, better to send a text message first to ask…”

He was chattering excitedly on the other end, saying that he had made major progress on his end, which amazingly connected with Jiang Lian’s situation. He concluded by inviting him: “Little Lian-Lian, can you come? Our box-seekers alliance, two swords joining forces! I’ll reimburse your flight!”

Having become a Triple Lotus Petal, even his manner of speaking had become lavish.

Jiang Lian said, “I’m keeping vigil for Master Gan.”

Shen Gun suddenly fell silent: even with his obsession for “research,” he knew that at such times, the dead take precedence, human relationships come first. The other person was still in mourning, and here he was clamoring about various matters.

So he became somewhat awkward.

Finally he said: “It’s alright, Little Lian-Lian, you take care of business first. Leave everything to big brother, and don’t worry… When I find out the crucial details, I’ll bring you a big gift.”

Jiang Lian wasn’t particularly worried. During those days, he was so busy with the funeral that the matter of the box had indeed temporarily taken a back seat.

…

There came a knocking sound on the car window.

Jiang Lian removed his eye mask and saw the person standing beside the car. The corners of his lips couldn’t help but curve upward.

The big gift had arrived.

However, he quickly discovered that Shen Gun’s head was drooping, his spirit deflated, with little energy.

It seemed this gift wasn’t as hoped.

Jiang Lian opened the car door, smiling as he greeted him: “Get in.”

On the highway, Jiang Lian first exchanged some unrelated pleasantries: “Why didn’t you let me pick you up at the airport? Taking the bus yourself must be tiring.”

Shen Gun grumbled: “Not good. Mountain Ghost’s arrangements—all planes and star-rated hotels—are too detached from the masses. I still prefer queuing up myself, buying tickets, and squeezing onto vehicles. It’s more natural, more down-to-earth.”

Jiang Lian teased him: “Newly rich and still not used to it?”

Then he asked: “Did Miss Meng give you my contact information?”

Shen Gun said, “No, Liu Guanuo gave it to me.”

At this point, he couldn’t help complaining: “Mountain Ghost’s operational efficiency isn’t as high as I imagined. It took so long just to find a contact number.”

That day on Cloud Dream Peak, when he had pounded the table and demanded to find Little Lian-Lian, or at least get his contact information, Liu Guanuo had risen from his seat, saying: “I’ll go get it.”

Shen Gun asked in surprise: “You have it?”

Those two short words somehow left Liu Guanuo stunned. He sat back down and denied it outright: “No, no, I misspoke. I originally meant to say, I’ll arrange for someone to find it. This… tracking someone down takes time.”

Shen Gun said, “Then go arrange it. Why are you still sitting there?”

This arrangement continued until the middle of the night, otherwise, he wouldn’t have had to send Jiang Lian a text message so late.

Jiang Lian found it strange. Liu Guanuo shouldn’t have needed to go to such trouble. Why not ask Meng Qianzi directly? Even if he didn’t have Meng Qianzi’s contact information, he could have gone through Meng Jinsong…

But these were minor details. He had more pressing concerns: “Tell me about it. What major progress have you made? And what makes you think we’re looking for the same box?”

Finally addressing the main topic, Shen Gun sighed and recounted everything in detail—how he went to Ten Heads Stockade to consult Master Bam, how he discovered Kuang Meiying’s drawing on the photocopier, and the matter of the seven evil slips.

Jiang Lian’s scalp tingled repeatedly as he listened, with goosebumps rising on his arms several times. They had already reached the entrance of the old residence, but to avoid interrupting Shen Gun’s narrative flow, he made a turn and drove in circles around the estate.

Originally, his plan was: now that they had the person’s image and the box’s appearance, they could search through various channels—though much time had passed and hope was slim, offering a high enough reward might work.

But Shen Gun’s discovery directly advanced the whole matter by a large step: Yan the Seventh and King of Hell!

He steadied his nerves and drove through the gate: “When you said you’d find out the crucial details, you meant investigating the King of Hell, right?”

Shen Gun glanced at him: “Why are you so excited?”

Jiang Lian smiled: “Such a big breakthrough, isn’t it worth getting excited about?”

Shen Gun said seriously, “Little Lian-Lian, after we confirmed that we’re looking for the same box, your perspective shouldn’t be limited to just Kuang Meiying’s illness anymore. You need to have a global outlook. This whole matter is much more complicated than we thought.”

Kuang Meiying had received Jiang Lian’s instructions and was already waiting in the reception room. Seeing the two enter, she quickly stood up. Before Shen Gun could greet her, his gaze was suddenly drawn to an object on the table.

He cried out in surprise: “The box! You found the box?”

On the table was a box identical to the one drawn by the Divine Eye, with the same patterns, the same phoenix bird on the front, the same dimensions…

Shen Gun suddenly couldn’t move.

Jiang Lian’s single sentence brought him back to normal: “Don’t get too excited, it’s 3D printed.”

Well, a model was better than no model. Shen Gun hurried over to look, then suddenly thought of something and asked Kuang Meiying: “Your blood… is it really… boiling?”

Kuang Meiying was startled, then nodded. She even reached for the fruit knife on the table, as if wanting to demonstrate on the spot. Jiang Lian said, “Cutting is quite painful. We don’t need proof for this, right? It’s true.”

Shen Gun realized what he was doing when reminded: “No need, no need, I was just confirming.”

At this point, he couldn’t help but look Kuang Meiying up and down. Kuang Meiying became embarrassed by his stare, somewhat at a loss. Jiang Lian intervened: “You can go now, we need to discuss some things.”

After Kuang Meiying left, he said, “I’ve known her for over ten years now. So far, apart from her blood, there’s nothing special about her. Staring won’t help.”

Shen Gun awkwardly sat down on the sofa.

Jiang Lian cut to the chase: “Finding the King of Hell isn’t going smoothly, is it?”

Shen Gun didn’t answer. He flipped the model box to show Jiang Lian where the phoenix and firebird’s head and tail met, where there was a groove deeper than the other engravings.

He flipped to the other side—at every junction of head and tail, it was the same.

Jiang Lian’s mind stirred: “Is this the clasp of the phoenix-firebird lock?”

Shen Gun nodded: “We’ve both confirmed this is a box, and being a box, it must be able to open and contain things. After much thought, I believe this box has a lock, but it’s designed so ingeniously that the lock is inside the box, not outside.”

So no matter how you pry or smash from the outside, it won’t open.

Jiang Lian pondered: “Fierce fire rolling over boiling blood can open the mechanism’s clasp. So Meiying’s blood dripped into this groove, then set on fire to burn, would unlock the clasp inside the box?”

Shen Gun made a sound of agreement: “Surprised, aren’t you? The Kuang family’s blood is used to open the box… Also, these past couple of days, I’ve been thinking about many things repeatedly. I feel that there might not be a prescription formula inside this box.”

Jiang Lian’s mind stirred, but he didn’t contradict: “Your reason?”

Shen Gun asked him in return: “If there were a prescription formula concerning the family’s life, do you think there would be only one copy? To prevent theft, fire, war disasters, or loss, wouldn’t a normal person make ten or eight copies? To spread the risk, they’d have to be hidden in different places—unless it couldn’t be copied at all, and what can’t be copied is certainly not a paper prescription.”

He pointed to the model box: “Could it be possible that the box itself is the formula? Why would the Kuang family, while fleeing disaster, insist on carrying a box that was empty and worthless in others’ eyes? Three generations have fallen ill, with the onset time getting earlier each generation. Could it be because they’ve been separated from this box for too long?”

Jiang Lian was silent for a moment.

It was possible. The Kuang family had a special constitution, and this box had strange materials. The black Third Master’s axe had only left a white mark on the box—perhaps this box was irrelevant to ordinary people, but crucial to the Kuang family? For instance, it might emit a strange radiation. The Kuang family members could only maintain normal bodily functions by living under this radiation for extended periods.

Jiang Lian also sat down on the sofa. He thought back over everything Shen Gun had said since they met, hesitantly asking: “Just now, you said I need to have a global outlook?”

Shen Gun nodded vigorously, each nod increasing his tension: “Little Lian-Lian, have you thought of something?”

Jiang Lian answered: “I recall when you were holding the mountain gall, you experienced a vision where you saw yourself placing the gall into an open box, while someone beside you chanted ‘one mountain gall.'”

Finally hitting the point, Shen Gun became extremely excited. He knew Little Lian-Lian would think along the same lines as him: “Doesn’t it sound like inventory counting, like making a record check?”

Jiang Lian continued: “The mountain gall isn’t large, but a box this size must contain more than just the mountain gall.”

Shen Gun’s voice began to tremble: “Right, right!”

He hurriedly grabbed paper and pen from the table: “Little Lian-Lian, don’t you think the items in this box, including the box itself, seem to have been… divided among different people?”

He began writing on the paper.

Box — Kuang family

Mountain gall — Mountain Ghost

Seven beast bones — Whereabouts unknown

At this point, his pen stopped: “There might be other things in this box, but so far we only know about these.”

“The box was taken by the Kuang family. You also said you’ve checked the county chronicles, and the Kuang family was just a prominent local household, nothing special—if they had anything special about them, they wouldn’t have fallen prey to a group of mountain bandits.”

“The mountain gall is with Mountain Ghost. For many years, it was sealed under the nine mountains of Hanging Gall Forest Peak, and only recently was it brought back to daylight by Miss Meng.”

“As for the seven beast bones, we have no idea where they’ve ended up. My five friends and I investigated the seven evil slips, and could only trace them back to Laozi crossing Hangu Pass. But, before that, these seven beast bones had already been taken out of the box. This led to seven malevolent energies plaguing the world, which were eventually sealed by Laozi.”

“Just looking at these three threads, don’t you find they’re unrelated, with nothing to do with each other? The Kuang family has no connection to Mountain Ghost, and Mountain Ghost has no intersection with the events related to the seven evil slips.”

Jiang Lian added: “But at the very beginning, when the box was opened and items removed, they must have been closely related.”

He vaguely felt that someone might have orchestrated this, attempting to scatter the box and its contents in different directions rather than returning them to their original place.

After a pause, he smiled: “Alright, after all this setup, I know things are more complex and vast than anticipated. You can tell me what else you discovered in the days that followed.”