The mule urine arrived quickly, brought in with a water pouch. Shen Gun carefully carried it down and handed it to Jiang Lian. They exchanged glances, both finding it somewhat unspeakable—the urine was still warm.
But they couldn’t splash it immediately. After Yanluo was awakened, they needed a plan for how to handle him, and who would lead the interrogation was a question.
Meng Qianzi eliminated Jiang Lian and Shen Gun through mockery.
“You?” she said to Shen Gun. “Are you sure? With your restless behind that can’t sit still in one place, what if your tongue slips and you call him ‘Little Luo Luo’? What then?”
Shen Gun was quite annoyed but admitted he lacked the aura necessary for an interrogator.
“As for you,” she glanced sideways at Jiang Lian, “do you know how to intimidate people? That threatening line you used earlier, ‘Do you believe I’ll…’—did you learn that from television? I might die laughing.”
Jiang Lian was speechless. He rarely took on a fierce demeanor, and even on the rare occasions he did, it came across as stiff and fake.
Meng Qianzi brushed off the dust from her clothes and hooked her foot around a small stool with broken legs and torn fabric, sitting down steadily: “So, some people have neither the qualities and presence of a villain nor the acting skills to pretend to be one. Why bother competing?”
Strangely, though it was just a broken stool, once she sat on it, she looked as if on a throne—eyebrows arched with contempt, expression haughty. If a tiger or leopard were crouched at her feet, it would have been perfectly fitting, not at all incongruous.
Jiang Lian suddenly recalled his first meeting with Meng Qianzi, when he was severely beaten before being brought to her. Then, before he could settle himself, she had thrown a knife at him.
Shen Gun’s voice floated down from the cave entrance: “I think she’s suitable.”
Jiang Lian smiled: “I have no objection either.”
Yanluo was awakened by the cold, foul-smelling mule urine.
His head ached, his mind foggy. He opened his eyes vaguely to find the cave unusually bright, causing him a sudden shock: this cave had been as dark as night for years; even with a candle, the light should be dim and yellowish.
When he raised his head abruptly, he saw two bright white spotlights angled toward him from not far away. The beams nearly blinded him, forcing him to quickly raise his hand as a shield. After a while, he squinted and cautiously peered forward.
Now he could see clearly—between those two angled portable spotlights sat a young woman. She appeared to be twenty-six or twenty-seven, very beautiful, but her face, expression, cold eyes, and slightly upturned, mocking lips indicated she would be difficult to deal with.
Behind her stood a man, but because the spotlights were positioned low, his upper body was shrouded in darkness, making his features indiscernible.
Yanluo swallowed, suddenly remembering that in the middle of the night, the electric bell had rung, and then someone had knocked him unconscious.
Who had knocked him out? Was it those strangers who arrived at Wubai Alley on mules? How had they found him? Why were they looking for him? Was there some grudge between them?
Yanluo’s nerves tightened, his eyes flickering uncertainly.
At this moment, Meng Qianzi spoke.
“Awake?”
Yanluo swallowed again, his body shrinking back uncomfortably. This woman gave him an indescribable sense of coercion.
“Let’s talk. You can’t speak, but you can move your neck. Nod when appropriate. If you neither nod nor shake your head… I have someone here who knows how to fix necks, ready to give you a massage anytime.”
Jiang Lian took notes mentally: so this is how tough people operate—speaking just enough, hiding daggers behind smiles, which is more powerful than direct threats.
“Your name is Yanluo?”
Yanluo’s lips were dry. After a long while, he nodded.
This name—no one had called him by it for decades. How did this woman know?
Meng Qianzi smiled charmingly: “Actually, our connection runs quite deep. Let me mention a few things to help you remember.”
“You’re from Wuling in Xiangxi. In ’39, you didn’t stick to the incense-offering role but secretly joined a mountain bandit called Hei San, helping him plot robberies and keep accounts… Hei San’s axe skills were impressive, but unfortunate—no amount of wealth could be taken away. During the Xiangxi bandit suppression, he was blown to pieces by mortar fire.”
Yanluo was dumbfounded. He never imagined that right at the start of their “conversation,” his early background would be exposed.
“In the mid-’40s, you made a big score. After scoping it out for seven or eight days, you robbed a wealthy household with the surname Kuang. Remember? Hei San made a killing, and your gains weren’t small either—paintings by Baishi Laoren and a box, right?”
Yanluo stared at her in shock: These events happened so many years ago. Being reminded so suddenly gave him a feeling of being in another lifetime.
Meng Qianzi’s eyes turned cold, her tone and expression severe: “Is that right? Is your head just there for show?”
This sudden change of demeanor startled not only Yanluo but also Jiang Lian and Shen Gun.
Yanluo quickly nodded.
Meng Qianzi’s anger transformed into a smile as she said, “That’s better. With only me talking, it’s quite lonely. You need to provide some interaction. Isn’t this nicer, more harmonious?”
Jiang Lian abandoned his idea of learning from her: if he tried this approach, he’d eventually develop a split personality. Different professions have their specialties; let the capable handle it. In future situations like this, better to leave it to Meng Qianzi.
Meng Qianzi continued pleasantly: “In the late ’50s, you learned someone was going to denounce you. You fled overnight, leaving behind your wife, children, and parents, taking only the box with you, correct?”
Yanluo nodded mechanically.
Meng Qianzi sighed: “Let me introduce you to…”
She extended her hand, hooking the hem of Jiang Lian’s clothes. Jiang Lian understood it was his cue and stepped forward.
Yanluo looked at his face: he recognized him as the one who had knocked him unconscious.
“This is a descendant of the Kuang family. You’ve borrowed their box for quite some years now; it’s time to return it, isn’t it?”
Hearing the word “box,” Yanluo’s body trembled.
Meng Qianzi noticed but didn’t show it: “Is the box here with you?”
When she asked this, both Jiang Lian and Shen Gun almost simultaneously held their breath: years of searching, many twists and turns, all for this enigmatic box.
Under the gaze of three pairs of eyes, Yanluo slowly shook his head.
Not here? Had the box changed hands?
Meng Qianzi felt a sinking feeling inside but didn’t show it: “But you know where it is, right?”
Yanluo hesitated, then nodded.
Meng Qianzi could tell that by this point in their “conversation,” Yanluo wasn’t as nervous as before. Using a chess metaphor, he had initially been overwhelmed and passive, but now he was stumbling along, attempting to control the game and make moves against her.
She couldn’t give him this opportunity, couldn’t let him know how much she knew, couldn’t let him have any leverage.
Meng Qianzi smiled slightly: “Good, that’s our first question. Let’s set it aside for now and continue.”
Yanluo was stunned. He had assumed this woman was after the box, and since he knew its whereabouts, he had something to bargain with. He hadn’t expected her to casually brush past the topic and move on.
What more was there to continue?
Meng Qianzi spoke unhurriedly: “In the mid-’70s, you were living here in Wubai Alley. One day, a group of outsiders arrived, taking photos and exploring. Among them was an old lady named Duan, Duan Wenxi.”
Yanluo was no longer shocked, just listening to see exactly how much she knew—how far and how deep she could go.
“You found a way to befriend her, and then you both went to the Kunlun Mountains. During those days, the weather at Kunlun wasn’t good, and there was an avalanche… Afterward, you returned, but she never appeared again.”
At this point, she leaned forward, lowering her voice, delivering her next words almost like a whisper:
“You killed her.”
After saying this, Meng Qianzi’s heart began to race.
This last statement was quite risky, as everything previously mentioned had solid evidence, but this was pure guesswork. If she guessed wrong, it would immediately shatter the all-knowing image she’d established before Yanluo.
But she couldn’t restrain herself.
Yanluo nodded woodenly: it didn’t matter anymore. His life’s greatest secret was a series of entanglements stemming from that box. Having admitted to robbing and killing so many from the Kuang family, he had too many debts to worry about. This one needn’t be denied.
Meng Qianzi’s mind buzzed, her fingertips feeling cold.
Her guess was correct. Her Grandma Duan, a legendary figure, had indeed died at the hands of this deadly Yanluo. Why? How could someone so shabby, so base, so…
She was too agitated; momentarily, she couldn’t find more cutting, venomous words to describe Yanluo.
The cave fell into extreme silence. Yanluo found it strange and looked at her uneasily, again and again.
Shen Gun had stopped looking down. He flipped over, lying on his back in the half-lit, half-dark passage, his heart filled with mixed emotions: Miss Duan, such an exceptional person—studying abroad in the 1920s, skilled in martial arts, unrestrained—deserved a glorious death. Perhaps like Meihua Jiuniang, facing a powerful enemy, victorious but exhausted, dying with a smile. Or even perishing together with an avalanche—befitting such a life. How could she die in such a regrettable manner?
Meng Qianzi lowered her eyes, her lips trembling slightly. Suddenly, she felt Jiang Lian’s hand reach out from behind, gently gripping her shoulder.
She came back to herself.
She had been born long after Grandma Duan was gone, so there was no deep emotional connection. To claim she was devastated by the terrible news would be exaggerated. First, she was angry that the Mountain Ghost’s pinnacle had capsized in such a squalid ditch; second, she felt sorry for Da Niangniang—if Gao Jinghong found out, how much would he blame himself?
Meng Qianzi cleared her throat, smiling stiffly: “Where were we? Ah… let’s continue.”
She forcibly pulled her thoughts back from the chaos: “In the ’90s, you were in Guilin working as a sanitation worker. By then you were older, not in good health, and began arranging your final affairs, sending some small wealth to your grandson. As for your fate, you hadn’t decided yet…”
“Who knew that fate would intervene—before you were ready, a hit-and-run vehicle killed you.”
Yanluo’s body completely slumped.
If previously he had been tense, trying to discover how much this woman knew, from the moment she mentioned his being run over, he no longer needed to maintain his guard. He was like an unfolded paper, completely transparent to her.
He collapsed to the ground.
Meng Qianzi said, “What happened at the crematorium, I don’t need to explain, right? Now, let me tell you who I am.”
Yanluo was still curious about her identity and slightly raised his eyes to look at her.
“I am the current Throne of the Mountain Ghosts. By killing Duan Wenxi, you killed my elder. And he…” Meng Qianzi gestured toward Jiang Lian: “His family elders—even more died at your hands. Do you think, having been found by us, you can still survive?”
Yanluo smiled, the kind of smile that comes with knowing all is lost and there’s no turning back. He lowered his eyes, feeling he was no longer in the world of the living: this was the netherworld of judgment, debts must be repaid, a life for a life. If he couldn’t live, so be it—living was suffering anyway.
Meng Qianzi changed tack: “However, you still possess things of interest to us, which means you still have some value. Let’s make a fair trade, a straightforward transaction. I’ll name my price, and you decide whether to sell… Give him paper and pen.”
Jiang Lian stepped forward, spreading paper in front of Yanluo and placing a pen down. After doing so, he stood nearby, not daring to move too far, fearing Yanluo might use the pen as a weapon to harm himself.
Meng Qianzi spoke calmly: “All that hardship, just to live a better life. But look at yourself—abandoning your wife, residing in a strange land. What benefits have you gained? Yes, you’ve got a few more decades of life, but these decades, you’ve lived like a dog… No, worse than a dog. Dogs live quite well nowadays, unlike you, who can’t even sleep soundly.”
Yanluo’s breathing grew heavier, struck by her words hitting home.
“My first offer: not killing you for one year, ensuring you eat and drink well, living in comfort. Since you spent time with Duan Wenxi, you should know that when the Throne speaks, it’s final. And you should be very familiar with the Mountain Ghosts’ financial and human resources—someone will guard you even while you sleep, not letting ‘that person’ run wild. This first offer buys an answer: where is that box now?”
After thinking, she added: “No need for details now; you can give a general answer first. We can discuss specifics later.”
Yanluo grabbed the pen, glanced at Meng Qianzi, wrote two characters on the paper, and held it up for her to see.
Sān nián (Three years).
Indeed, someone with a traditional education still habitually uses traditional characters.
Meng Qianzi smirked: “Just one year, non-negotiable.”
She paused, her words carrying deeper meaning: “Yanluo, business must first begin before there can be repeat customers. I have more than one question.”
Yanluo gripped the pen tightly, hesitated, seemingly having made up his mind, then bent down to write three more characters. Just as he was about to lift the paper, a voice suddenly shouted from above: “What’s he writing? I can’t see!”
Looking up, he saw a head hanging down from the cave entrance. With the light source below, the upper part was dim and unclear, making that face appear especially terrifying. Caught off guard, Yanluo’s hand trembled, tearing a hole in the paper.
It turned out that from the moment the paper and pen were given to Yanluo, Shen Gun had been peering down again. He could have come down—it was just a matter of exiting the tunnel and re-entering with proper orientation—but he feared missing something important. So he remained lying there until he really couldn’t see, at which point he started yammering.
Jiang Lian had no choice but to go over and help him down, feet first.
As soon as Shen Gun landed, he took three steps in two and rushed to Yanluo, eagerly looking at the paper, then sucked in a cold breath.
Kunlun Mountain.
The box was in the Kunlun Mountains!
He blurted out: “I knew it! Kunlun Mountain isn’t that simple!”
The box may have originally come from there, and now it has returned!
Meng Qianzi frowned, sternly saying: “Stand aside and don’t talk nonsense!”
Shen Gun realized this was her stage and quickly shut his mouth.
Meng Qianzi looked at Yanluo: “Second offer, add half a year. What did you use to lure my Grandma Duan to Kunlun?”
Yanluo didn’t hesitate, writing two more characters.
Lóng gǔ (Dragon bone).
Dragon bone?
Meng Qianzi laughed disdainfully: “Just by your word, Grandma Duan would believe you and follow you thousands of miles?”
Duan Wenxi was certainly a romantic person, but never impulsive. Without seeing concrete evidence, she wouldn’t embark on a thousand-mile journey rashly.
Yanluo wrote a line:
—I showed her a fragment.
A fragment? A dragon bone fragment?
Meng Qianzi’s heart stirred: “Where did you get it?”
It couldn’t have been from the box; Yanluo couldn’t open it. Was it from the Kuang family’s collection, stored in another box?
Yanluo finally revealed the cunning smile of a black-hearted advisor from his Xiangxi days, writing two characters.
One year.
Meng Qianzi didn’t even consider it: “Three months. If you don’t want to answer, we’ll skip this question. And I remind you, don’t haggle with me over such minor questions—you don’t have that privilege.”
Yanluo still didn’t hesitate. With blood feuds hanging over him, every extra month gained was worthwhile. He wrote three characters.
Zhèn Lóng Shān (Dragon-Subduing Mountain).
No wonder Yanluo chose to live in Wubai Alley—it wasn’t without reason: this was a place surrounded by dragon and phoenix energy. Just downhill from Wubai Alley was Dragon-Subduing Mountain, where Yanluo had found the dragon bone fragment.
Meng Qianzi stared at him steadily: “I’ve heard that burning dragon bone allows one to see the afterlife. Is that true? Did my Grandma Duan see it?”
Yanluo shook his head, writing a sentence:
—I don’t know. I only know it’s an entrance.
An entrance?
A phrase suddenly leaped into Shen Gun’s mind:
—Can help you hear… the unwilling voices… of those lingering at the entrance.
An entrance—was it that entrance?
Shen Gun was extremely excited and about to ask further when he suddenly noticed something wrong with Yanluo.
His body was twitching slightly, his eyes blinking with increasing frequency, occasionally rolling back, then forcefully returning to normal.
Shen Gun didn’t understand, but Jiang Lian had witnessed similar phenomena at night. He had an ominous premonition: what could be asked of Yanluo might not be obtainable from “that person.”
Seizing the time, he threw out another question: “You were originally an ordinary person. How did you manage to shed your old form and live another life?”
Yanluo’s eyes rolled even more severely, and the hand holding the pen trembled incessantly. But instead of writing, he pointed to two characters he had written earlier.
Sān nián (Three years).
This man was truly scheming to the core. Jiang Lian couldn’t make decisions on his own: adding three or five years—were they going to feed this scum until old age?
He urgently looked back at Meng Qianzi.
Meng Qianzi also sensed something was wrong, but figured that once the switch occurred, it could switch back—just a waste of time. She smiled: “One year.”
Yanluo refused, persistently pointing to “Three years.” Due to his body’s twitching, his finger also moved, making the already torn paper rustle noisily.
Meng Qianzi wouldn’t let him gain the upper hand: “One year. You can write it first—it’s just a general answer. If we’re interested, we’ll raise the price.”
Yanluo found this acceptable and bent down to write.
But this time, writing became increasingly difficult. His body constantly twitched, his eyes rolling back to show the whites, applying too much force with the pen, repeatedly tearing the paper. Jiang Lian saw his handwriting becoming increasingly erratic.
He wrote: “I ate…”
The fourth character began with the radical for “deer,” but he only managed to write this radical before his head drooped, motionless.
All three remained silent, their breathing quickening, waiting to see how Yanluo would change.
After a while, Yanluo slowly raised his head.
Everyone could see this was not the same Yanluo as before. His eyes gleamed with cunning, his face wore an inexplicably smug smile, and his gaze moved from Meng Qianzi to Shen Gun, then toward…
He probably intended to look at Jiang Lian next, but in an instant, his body suddenly jolted, and his gaze returned to Shen Gun.
He scrutinized Shen Gun up and down, his expression changing several times, his gaze flickering uncertainly.
What the hell was happening? Shen Gun didn’t have any bizarre appearance—surely he didn’t warrant such prolonged examination?
Shen Gun felt a chill run down his neck and couldn’t help asking: “Do you know me?”
Something unexpected happened.
Yanluo nodded.
Shen Gun was dumbfounded: “Who… who are you?”
This certainly wasn’t Yanluo anymore, nor was it some dual personality. Shen Gun would swear to heaven that in this lifetime, he had never crossed paths with Yanluo.
Who could it be? Over these decades, he had experienced too many things and known too many people to immediately identify the connection.
Yanluo looked around, picking up the pen.
Jiang Lian noticed that this Yanluo didn’t know how to hold a pen properly. He wasn’t using the conventional grip, nor even the brush-holding technique. Instead, he grasped the pen shaft directly, like holding a tree branch.
He wasn’t writing but drawing, though he wasn’t skilled at drawing either. He was just scribbling, creating rough outlines and postures—you could only tell he was drawing people, first one, then another, with some distance between them.
Finally, between these two figures, he added something else.
What he added was a box.
The entire picture appeared to show two people carrying a box together, or perhaps one person… passing the box to another.