In the afternoon, Meng Qianzi switched vehicles. Though the motorhome was comfortable, it simply couldn’t handle the road ahead. According to Lu Sanming, the current road was still decent; for the final stretch, forget four-wheel-drive SUVs—even tractors couldn’t get through. The local Mountain Households hosting them were still figuring out a solution.

At dusk, Meng Qianzi witnessed this solution.

A mule train of eleven mules.

There were four farmhands driving the mules, from Baise in Guangxi. They had been “poached” from nearby construction sites with substantial payment by the local Mountain Households responsible for hosting: apparently, the mountain paths were too narrow and rugged for large machinery to operate effectively. For transporting stones and other materials, they could only rely on mules—the most primitive form of transportation.

When the convoy arrived, the eleven mules were lined up as if for inspection. Each mule’s back was fully loaded with equipment, with just enough space left for a rider. Each mule also had two or three pairs of rain boots hanging from its neck, which looked both comical and amusing.

Eleven mules could only carry eleven people. To save money, the muleteers were willing to walk rather than ride. With Meng Qianzi, Jiang Lian, Shen Gun, and Lu Sanming taking four spots, seven remained. These seven needed to be capable and efficient, including a guide and a doctor. After careful selection, Xin Ci was naturally excluded.

Xin Ci was happy not to go and simply entrusted Meng Qianzi’s medicine to Lu Sanming. Lu Sanming held the medicine as if receiving an imperial edict, feeling the weight on his shoulders increase threefold.

The Mountain Household in charge of reception was surnamed Pi and named Qiu, with the nickname Pixiu. He was tall and muscular. Since the pixiu was an auspicious beast capable of turning disasters into blessings, Mountain Households often liked to team up with him on missions for good luck.

Upon meeting, Pixiu immediately apologized to Meng Qianzi, explaining that he knew many people were coming, but unfortunately, there were few mules, and he could only find these.

Meng Qianzi didn’t understand why they couldn’t walk and had to ride mules, but she didn’t bother to ask—there must be a reason for such arrangements.

As for the shortage of mules, she didn’t find it problematic either: when Mountain Spirits handled matters, they rarely committed all their personnel. They always maintained a reserve camp in the rear. The remaining people could serve as backup—this way, if anything happened, there would still be support, unlike the Water Spirits, who could be wiped out entirely, with no one left to explain what had happened.

When Jiang Lian mounted his mule, he was concerned that the mules, already carrying so much equipment, might not be able to handle the additional weight. The muleteer was unconcerned and boasted in broken Mandarin, “When we transport stones up the mountain for high-voltage poles, each mule carries one cubic meter of stones, about two hundred kilograms, making nine trips up and down daily without issue. Don’t worry.”

…

And so, the mule train set off toward the mountains. The path was too narrow for side-by-side travel, forcing them to proceed in a single file. Xin Ci watched from afar, observing the procession grow increasingly slender until, eventually, it resembled a line of ants disappearing into the vast mountains.

Halfway through the journey, Meng Qianzi understood the purpose of the mules and rain boots.

Reaching Five Hundred Nong Township didn’t require climbing mountains—the convoy had already crossed many peaks. This area was a low-lying basin, albeit one scattered with numerous rice-dumpling-shaped stone hills that couldn’t be climbed. They could only travel through the “nong” spaces between the stone hills. Now, at the end of summer, the rainy season had just passed, leaving the ground like a swamp. A single step would sink into wet mud up to the thigh. The muleteers already resembled mud men, and the mules weren’t faring much better, with all four legs submerged in mud. From a distance, they looked like strange creatures floating on the mud with only their bellies visible.

Pixiu, who was leading, turned back to explain to her, “This is still relatively good. During the heavy rains earlier, these ‘nongs’ were completely flooded. The funnel holes underneath couldn’t drain the water, making these stone mountains look like islands submerged in water.”

The principle was similar to a kitchen sink: normally, water drains out, but with too much water or debris clogging the drain, the outlet gets blocked. Then you have to slowly drain the water or manually clear it. Nature’s water accumulation and drainage were much slower than a sink’s. After soaking for several days, the mud ground became unbearably soft.

Fearing that Meng Qianzi and the others might get bored riding mules, Pixiu distributed maps, “This is what Brother Lu instructed me to prepare. We referenced the mountain chronicles and the photographs left from Grandmother Duan’s previous visit to mark potential dwelling spots. However, we don’t know which household Lord Yama lived in; we simply couldn’t find out.”

The papers rustled as they were passed back, much like test papers being distributed in a classroom. The muleteers showed no curiosity, focusing only on driving the mules forward. Their mule team had not only transported stones but had also carried many people inspecting engineering projects. Those people talked about performance, evaluations, satellite images—all things the muleteers neither understood nor cared about.

From behind, Shen Gun called out to the front, “That Pi… Pixiu, why did Miss Duan go to Five Hundred Nong Township back then?”

Seeing how difficult it was for Shen Gun to shout, Pixiu waved the walkie-talkie in his hand. Shen Gun then noticed that one was hanging from his mule’s back as well. Just as he curiously picked it up, he heard Pixiu’s voice coming through, “Grandmother Duan didn’t just go to Five Hundred Nong Township back then. She was touring the mountains and visited many places. But after reaching Five Hundred Nong Township, for some reason, she ended her journey and didn’t continue further.”

Shen Gun sighed, wanted to say something, but swallowed it back—he really didn’t know how to use this sophisticated device.

What else could it be? Most likely, she had encountered Lord Yama.

By the time they finally reached Five Hundred Nong Township, the sky was completely dark. Each mule was equipped with lighting devices, as well as handheld searchlights. The beams were incredibly powerful, illuminating the surrounding area as bright as day.

But beyond that illuminated area, the darkness was overwhelming. After being abandoned, without further development, this place seemed even more primitive than if it had never been developed at all. Since no trees grew here, there were few creatures seeking shelter, creating an eerily quiet atmosphere. The light beams occasionally struck massive, heavy stone blocks—the peak cluster of rice dumpling mountains.

Lu Sanming reluctantly suggested to Meng Qianzi, “Miss Meng, perhaps we should stay here tonight?”

He felt this arrangement wasn’t ideal, but even if they had driven the mules in early in the morning, completing this muddy path and exploring the abandoned dwellings would still take until nightfall. In other words, regardless of when they came, “staying overnight” was unavoidable.

Having come this far, they had to stay. Meng Qianzi raised her searchlight and scanned the surroundings. Within range were several houses, most of them collapsed and decayed. The stone structures, built by quarrying, still had intact walls. She instructed Lu Sanming, “Have people look around and find large, relatively secure stone houses. We’ll make do for the night.”

Unexpectedly, even this “making do” wasn’t an option.

The people who went to check returned saying that because this area was flooded every summer, with countless floods over decades, the wooden houses had naturally rotted to the consistency of cotton. Even the stone houses had water lines on both interior and exterior walls, covered with moss and lichen. Over time, new growth densely covered the walls, while the rotted growth accumulated inside, slippery as paste and unbearably foul. Even if they forced themselves to clean, the stench couldn’t be eliminated. Standing inside for just a short while was unbearable, let alone staying overnight.

This presented a dilemma. Though the muddy ground here was firmer than on the path, it was still not much better. Driving stakes for tents was also unsuitable. Rather than enduring a miserable, sleepless night, it would be better to stay energized and get to work. Meng Qianzi made a resolute decision, “Everyone, gear up and let’s get to work. With one concerted effort, we can rest properly once we leave.”

She put on her rain boots, tightened the boot openings, and slid down from the mule’s back. The others also dismounted.

However, while people could work through the night, the mules had traveled half the day and needed proper rest, or the return journey would be challenging. The muleteers, who earned their living with the mules, cared deeply for their animals and immediately wanted to take them to drink.

In such mountain depressions, after the rainy season, there would inevitably be ponds of various sizes, only differing in distance. Though the pond water was dirty, the animals didn’t mind. Meng Qianzi had Lu Sanming select two capable men to accompany the muleteers, thinking, though it might be inappropriate to say, that while Mountain Spirit incidents could be resolved internally, any mishaps involving outsiders would be much more complicated.

The remaining people were not divided into groups. In this darkness, splitting up could be dangerous. Staying together, they followed the map’s numbering to examine the abandoned dwellings one by one.

With two men accompanying the muleteers, Meng Qianzi’s group was reduced to nine people with clear assignments: Pixiu and another strong man named Tang Zhuang were responsible for physical tasks like lifting covers and clearing sites. Meng Qianzi’s group of four primarily conducted examinations. The remaining three provided illumination and kept watch.

The group proceeded, examining as they went, but honestly, nothing unusual was apparent. When the township’s inhabitants moved away, most took their belongings with them, leaving only bulky items that were difficult to transport. And what insights could be gleaned from rotted bed frames and tables lying about?

Meng Qianzi felt somewhat dejected, thinking this trip to Five Hundred Nong Township was likely futile, undertaken merely for peace of mind.

Jiang Lian seized a moment to approach her, “Everyone else moved away, but Lord Yama might not have. He must have left in a hurry and probably left many things behind.”

Meng Qianzi didn’t look at him but felt compelled to retort, “That’s not necessarily true. Maybe he had a wife who could move after he left.”

Jiang Lian smiled, “That’s unlikely. A man like Lord Yama, wandering and fugitive, who was already… forty or fifty when he fled, would he have still been concerned with finding a wife?”

He recollected: yes, the Kuang family was massacred in the 1940s when Lord Yama was in his twenties or thirties. By the 1960s, when he fled, he would have been at least in his forties.

Could Lord Yama have developed a romantic storyline during his escape? Jiang Lian found it hard to accept.

Meng Qianzi snorted, “In Grandmother Duan’s photos, the two showing Lord Yama depict him dressed identically to the locals, meaning he had certainly lived there for many years. If not for his face, would you have recognized him as an outsider?”

“When someone wants to hide their identity, the greatest disguise is to blend in with those around them. An outsider who remained a bachelor would attract too much attention—why not find a simple rural wife who knew nothing, to serve him, manage everything for him, allowing him to peacefully focus on his affairs?”

This place was so remote that its inhabitants would inevitably be isolated from the world, unaware of external situations, and likely illiterate. For Lord Yama to conceal himself and quickly integrate, the best method indeed would be to pair up with a local woman. For Lord Yama, this would be all benefits with no drawbacks.

Jiang Lian was stunned and, after a long moment, said, “That makes sense.”

Meng Qianzi gave him a sidelong glance. “So, all men are the same.”

With that, she raised her head and walked out, instructing Pixiu, “Let’s go to the next one.”

Jiang Lian fell behind, feeling that Meng Qianzi’s words carried a lingering significance, ostensibly about Lord Yama but seemingly directed at someone else…

As he pondered this, Shen Gun caught up and asked him, “Little Lian Lian, do you think Lord Yama came to Five Hundred Nong Township randomly, choosing a remote place good for hiding, or did he come here deliberately?”

Jiang Lian couldn’t say for sure.

The next dwelling was a stone house. Before entering, they were greeted by an overwhelming stench of decay. Pixiu distributed masks to everyone in advance. Just as Jiang Lian put on his mask, he noticed that the wind had picked up around them.

The basin’s low terrain meant that winds always arrived with ferocity. Moreover, with the rice dumpling mountains standing tall, the wind couldn’t pass unobstructed, frequently being blocked and creating friction, inevitably producing strange sounds. Heard in the deep night, these sounds were eerie.

Shen Gun exclaimed in surprise, “It is like Yardang Ghost City!”

Lu Sanming was smug, “Mr. Shen, would I lie to you? This is the friction and vibration of air currents. The wind is just starting. Wait until it gets stronger—it’ll sound like ghosts wailing and spirits howling.”

Indeed, as the group entered the house and found nothing significant, they were preparing to leave when another gust of wind struck. This gust was much stronger than the previous one, repeatedly lifting even the decayed roof. From all directions came a mournful sound, like thousands of ghosts crying in unison. Unlike Yardang Ghost City, which is located in open wilderness where sounds come and go quickly, the rice dumpling mountains were in a depression, causing sounds to linger and echo, one wave after another. Just as Meng Qianzi was feeling her scalp tingle, she suddenly heard terrified screams from not far away.

Judging by the sound, it must have been one of the muleteers. Meng Qianzi sharply asked, “What happened?”

As soon as she spoke, two voices responded simultaneously from inside and outside the house, “I’ll go check.”

The one outside was the lookout who, having the advantage of position, darted out before finishing his sentence.

Inside was Pixiu, who, like most Mountain Households, always sought to perform well in front of the boss. However, in his haste, he forgot the slippery ground. One step sent him sliding sideways. As his hands grasped desperately for support, finding nothing solid, he grabbed a handful of wet moss on the wall, then slid down, crashing heavily to the ground.

At that moment, the walkie-talkie at his waist sounded. It was one of the Mountain Households accompanying the muleteers, explaining, “It’s nothing, nothing. Rural folk are timid and superstitious. Suddenly hearing the wind and then slipping, they couldn’t stop screaming until I silenced them.”

So it was a false alarm. Meng Qianzi exhaled deeply. Meanwhile, Pixiu was both embarrassed and ashamed, his hand covered in something slippery and foul that made him nauseous just thinking about it.

He struggled to get up, but having fallen so hard, he let out a painful groan as he exerted himself. Jiang Lian, being closest, bent down and extended his hand.

He had a good impression of Pixiu—such a large man yet with a shy and gentle temperament, creating an endearing contrast.

Pixiu, filled with gratitude, said “Thank you” and gripped Jiang Lian’s hand with his clean one, ready to stand up with his help.

Unexpectedly, that help didn’t come—Jiang Lian wasn’t pulling him up.

Puzzled, Pixiu looked up at Jiang Lian and saw him frowning intensely, staring at the stone wall. After a moment, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he called out, “Qianzi.”

Meng Qianzi turned at the sound but didn’t immediately see anything unusual—just scratch marks running down the moss-covered wall where Pixiu had fallen and grabbed.

Jiang Lian swallowed and said with excitement, “The light, quickly shine the light here. There are markings on this stone.”

The light immediately came over. There were indeed markings at a certain spot where Pixiu had scraped away the moss—very disorganized, back and forth, as if someone had repeatedly carved with a knife, trying to grind away something.

Meng Qianzi looked for a while, her heart pounding, instinctively feeling that something was about to be discovered.

She ordered, “Clean all the moss off this wall.”

Soon, all the moss on the wall was cleared away.

There were indeed characters, all concentrated on the lower half, at a height suggesting someone had sat on a small stool facing the wall, carving each stroke meticulously, then staring intently, scratching their head, pondering deeply.

Later, these characters had been subjected to knife scraping, evidently in an attempt to destroy them. Some had indeed been successfully erased, but those that remained had moss deeply embedded in the carvings. Once cleaned, they became even clearer, especially with two spotlights shining on the wall from left and right.

Jiang Lian could see the chaotically distributed characters at a glance.

Da Yu.

Tu Shan Shi gave birth to Qi.

Passed his home three times.

Who gave birth to Da Yu?

Meng Qianzi also saw these characters but grew increasingly confused: Who had carved these? Lord Yama? It must have been him—in Five Hundred Nong Township, a minority ethnic gathering place, there probably wasn’t a second person who could write Chinese characters. But why was Lord Yama researching Yu the Great’s flood control?

As she pondered, she heard a gasping sound from Shen Gun’s throat, like a sharp intake of breath, before he collapsed sitting on the ground.

Jiang Lian watched him for a moment, then said softly, “Everyone, go outside. Don’t disturb Shen Gun.”

He pulled Meng Qianzi out.

Meng Qianzi was still completely bewildered, repeatedly looking back at the house, “What’s going on? What’s wrong with him?”

Jiang Lian’s throat was dry, and he felt his hands trembling slightly. “He might be on the verge of realizing something. Don’t disturb him; give him space.”

Is that so? Meng Qianzi fell silent. After a while, she muttered, “Why can’t I figure it out?”

Jiang Lian couldn’t help but laugh, “Are you envious of him for this? Qianzi, Shen Gun has never envied your ability to split mountains, move mountain beasts, or subdue mountain beasts.”

“Each profession has its specialization. He has been immersed in these mysterious matters for twenty or thirty years, has read more relevant books than you, and experienced more as well. Some connections only he can make—anyway, he’s your lotus petal, whatever credit he earns counts toward you. Just make sure this pedal doesn’t fall off.”

Meng Qianzi was about to laugh, but hadn’t had time to speak when she heard Shen Gun call from inside the house, “Little Lian Lian?”

Meng Qianzi and Jiang Lian exchanged a glance and entered together.

Shen Gun was still sitting on the ground, one hand trembling slightly as it rested on the characters “Da Yu.” After a long moment, he finally spoke, “You’ve all heard the legend of Yu the Great’s flood control, right?”

Meng Qianzi answered, “Of course.”

Shen Gun turned to look at her. “Tell me about it.”

Then he added, “Be specific. The causes and effects—be specific.”

Meng Qianzi thought for a moment, “In ancient times, there were great floods. The emperor then was Yao, I think. He appointed Yu’s father, Gun, to control the floods. I heard Gun used expanding soil, only knew how to block but not how to drain, failed to control the floods, and was then killed by Yao.”

Shen Gun corrected her, “No, it was Shun who killed Gun. By then, Emperor Shun had already ascended the throne.”

What difference does it make? Weren’t they both emperors? Meng Qianzi was dismissive, “Later, Shun appointed Gun’s son, Yu, to control the floods. Yu was smarter than Gun, so he succeeded.”

Jiang Lian listened from the side, hearing her enthusiastically conclude with “so he succeeded,” and couldn’t help but smile, finding her utterly adorable.

Meng Qianzi felt her answer was good. Looking at the characters on the stone wall, she voluntarily added, “As for Yu, he worked very hard controlling the floods, ‘passing his home three times without entering.’ His wife was from the Tu Shan clan and gave birth to his son, Qi. Later, the abdication system ended. Yu passed the throne to his son, creating a family dynasty, which became the Xia Dynasty.”

Shen Gun said, “I want to ask you a question. Shun killed Gun, creating a blood feud with Yu. Why didn’t Yu hate him and instead help him control the floods?”

Meng Qianzi was momentarily speechless, then, after a pause, said, “Well, at that time… the disaster was severe. Yu prioritized the people’s welfare above personal grudges, I suppose.”

If it were her, she’d probably hold a grudge.

Shen Gun said, “Good. Now let me ask you, who gave birth to Yu the Great?”

Meng Qianzi answered without thinking, “Yu’s mother gave birth to him, of course.”

Before she finished speaking, Jiang Lian couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

Meng Qianzi said angrily, “Is it that funny?”

By the end, she was laughing too, not because she thought she was wrong, but because saying “Yu was born from Yu’s mother” sounded so comical.

Only Shen Gun wasn’t laughing. He stared steadily at Meng Qianzi and said, “No, that’s not it.”

“Miss Meng, you’re not that familiar with mythology. In mythological legends, Yu the Great’s mother is never mentioned. Myths say that Gun was killed on Mount Yu, and from his flesh and bones, Yu was born.”

“According to the ‘Haineijing’ section of the ‘Classic of Mountains and Seas’: ‘The Emperor ordered Zhu Rong to kill Gun at Yu Suburbs, and Gun gave rebirth to Yu.’ Some say that ‘rebirth’ is connected to ‘belly,’ meaning ‘belly birth.’ But whether it’s ‘rebirth’ or ‘belly birth,’ Yu was born from Gun, and born after Gun’s death.”

Meng Qianzi was startled, “But Gun was Yu’s father. How can a father give birth to a child, especially after death?”

Shen Gun said, “Exactly. But what makes us think that only mothers can give birth? What if, in the earliest times, fathers could also give birth? No, not father giving birth, but self-reproduction—another form of propagation. Doesn’t modern science have cloning reproduction? Gun gave birth to a new version of himself, so there was no resentment toward Shun, who had ordered his execution.”

Jiang Lian listened, feeling a chill run down his spine. In a flash of insight, he blurted out, “Lord Yama…”

Shen Gun looked at him and asked, “Why was Chen Dafei frightened to madness? Normally, the dead coming back to life wouldn’t scare him that much, right? Why did the number of corpses at the scene match the number of charred bones found? And how do we explain the mysterious extra person?”

“But now I understand. Is it possible that… Lord Yama gave birth to Lord Yama? The old Lord Yama’s remains are still there, but the new Lord Yama… has already been born and rapidly grown to maturity.”