When Meng Qianzi fell, she nearly sank to the bottom. Fortunately, she had some swimming skills, immediately pushing off the ground and turning her body. Though she couldn’t see, her natural bodily senses remained sharp. She keenly detected the earth dragon lunging straight down at her and quickly darted forward to avoid it.
Unexpectedly, after swimming just two meters, her outstretched hand suddenly struck an object that felt like a round platform. The pain made her clench her back teeth, though she secretly felt grateful that it was her arm rather than her head that had made contact—a direct head collision would have certainly resulted in a bloody wound.
The water surged violently behind her, creating massive splashes. Luckily, the chamber had limited space, and the earth dragon’s massive body made it difficult to maneuver. Relying on her agility, she quickly dodged to the other side of the round platform.
It truly was a round platform, roughly over a meter in diameter and over a meter high. She hadn’t seen it earlier because it was submerged in water.
She felt immense retroactive fear: fortunately, the pulley had been set up at the edge of the coffin’s opening. Had it been placed one or two meters toward the center, she would have fallen directly onto this platform rather than into the water, likely losing half her life if not dying outright.
As these thoughts raced through her mind, she heard a scraping sound—the earth dragon’s clawed limb scraped down across the platform. From the sound, the claw tips had dug into the stone. Her waterproof flashlight had fallen into the water, creating a blurry halo of light beneath the surface. By this light, she saw that just the wrinkled forearm of the creature was about as thick as her waist.
Her heart pounded with terror. Going up was impossible. Her only option now was to run into one of the passages, hoping they were complex and large enough for her to find a hiding place and wait for Sixth and Seventh Mama’s rescue team.
Unable to hold her breath any longer, she surfaced, quickly assessed the earth dragon’s position, then made a nimble leap in the opposite direction, attempting to dart into the nearest passage.
However, how could human speed match that of a creature born and raised in water? After just a couple of swimming strokes, she sensed a massive, deeper shadow rapidly darting toward her, even moving ahead to block her path.
Meng Qianzi’s mind raced, and she was forced to instantly dive underwater, compelled to swim toward the earth dragon instead. Sure enough, as soon as she darted away, the earth dragon’s paw crashed down with a loud splash, displacing all the water in that area. The force was too much for her to withstand, and the wave carried her upward.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the earth dragon’s other paw striking down at her head. With no time to think, she quickly spun with the water’s surging force, but was still caught by the edge of its paw, sending her tumbling back into the water.
The waves submerged her face, catching her off guard and causing her to choke violently. In that life-or-death moment, an absurdly comical childhood memory flashed through her mind.
Back then, she enjoyed crouching in the wild, catching tiny insects smaller than mosquitoes. The insects would frantically dart left and right in panic, but couldn’t escape the repeated strikes of her chubby little hands. Finally, with a soft slap, she would lift her hand to find a squashed insect stuck to her palm.
How similar it was now—she had become the insect, desperately seeking an escape route between the earth dragon’s massive paws, her soul nearly fleeing her body.
The shadow moved closer, wavering on the undulating water surface. Just then, chaotic and urgent stomping sounds suddenly came from above.
Now she understood why Granny Duan had written “do not sound the bronze bell” in her message. When people stomped on the bronze cover from above while others were below ground, the sound produced was tremendously loud.
The earth dragon seemed to sense something, raising its head to look up. Meng Qianzi seized this opportunity to surface. As she lunged toward a passage entrance, she heard the voices from above, and her eyes suddenly grew hot with emotion.
The mountain folk must have jumped onto the bronze cover at the bottom of the pit, exerting all their strength to knock and pound on it. She heard Pixiu shouting hoarsely, “Here, here!” and Lu Sanming yelling, “Harder, everyone hit harder!”
Looking back urgently, she saw the earth dragon standing upright with raised limbs, appearing ready to grab the broken coffin opening. If it succeeded, it would need just one leap to enter the pit where the mountain folk waited below, like a hungry wolf trapped with lambs in the same pen. How many would die then?
Meng Qianzi felt extreme urgency; her mind was buzzing. From some unknown reservoir of courage, she drew her dagger, charged forward two steps, and leaped onto the earth dragon’s diagonally positioned back.
The earth dragon’s back was slippery, but fortunately, it was covered in rough scales. Using these scales as footholds, she held her breath and climbed up five or six steps. When she reached the creature’s trembling, bowl-sized, crystal ball-like eyes, she struck down with her dagger, using every ounce of strength to plunge it in.
She had no idea how large or deep the earth dragon’s eye was, but her dagger sank in to the hilt, with even half her hand disappearing inside. The creepy sensation nearly numbed half her body. Before she could withdraw her hand, the earth dragon’s throat quivered, emitting a spine-chilling moan. With a violent shake of its head, it flung her entire body away. She slammed hard against the wall before falling.
Meng Qianzi felt everything go black, and then she knew nothing more.
After an unknown period, in her foggy state, she heard someone calling: “Qianzi, Qianzi.”
The voice seemed ethereal and distant, as if coming from the horizon. She opened her eyes in confusion, feeling like she was lying in someone’s arms. The world appeared tilted and dark, with a small bright sun bobbing up and down before her eyes.
How annoying—she reached out and swatted that little sun away.
Seeing Meng Qianzi in this state, Jiang Lian grew anxious, his palms covered with sweat.
After avoiding the earth dragon, he had intended to hide deeper in the branching passages, but concerned about Meng Qianzi’s safety, not knowing if she had made it up safely, he swam back to check.
Just as he reached the chamber, he saw water splashing wildly as the earth dragon thrashed about, striking and pounding. Jiang Lian’s face was drenched by the spraying water. Before he could get a clear view, he heard the bronze cover clanging above. When he looked up again, Meng Qianzi had already leaped onto the earth dragon’s head and fiercely struck with her dagger.
Everything happened too quickly—from her strike to being flung away and losing consciousness. Jiang Lian had no time to help. He could only take advantage of those few seconds when the earth dragon was frantically thrashing around in pain, its massive tail whipping wildly, to swim to Meng Qianzi and quickly bring her into a passage.
Shortly after entering the passage, the earth dragon followed, its manner fierce and aggressive as it charged and crashed forward. Jiang Lian dared not delay even slightly. Knowing the earth dragon’s massive body was good at charging straight ahead but not at turning corners, he chose the maze’s branching paths, continuously taking turns, avoiding straight lines whenever possible. After winding through the maze for an unknown period, the earth dragon’s muffled, angry groans finally faded, and Jiang Lian had completely lost track of where he had taken them.
Only then did he realize that the maze’s floor wasn’t level but had varying heights. Sometimes the water reached his neck, other times there was no standing water at all. While mazes were generally two-dimensional planes, this one might well be three-dimensional.
To be cautious, he wound further inward and stopped in a narrow, dry side passage. After listening quietly for a while and confirming that the surroundings were deathly silent with no living creatures lurking nearby, he finally lowered his voice and tried to rouse Meng Qianzi.
When she opened her eyes, her gaze was unfocused, her expression bewildered. Jiang Lian knew she wasn’t fully conscious, so he turned on his flashlight, hoping her pupils would follow the light and gradually regain awareness. Unexpectedly, she raised her hand and knocked the flashlight away.
Left with no choice, Jiang Lian held her with one arm while reaching for the rolling flashlight with his other hand.
Then he heard Meng Qianzi ask: “Mountain Ghost… was she bitten to death?”
Jiang Lian was startled, taking a moment to realize what she meant. He propped the flashlight at an angle to provide light and softly replied: “No, it didn’t climb up.”
In truth, he wasn’t entirely certain. The earth dragon hadn’t climbed up initially, but who knew what might have happened afterward? This underground maze was so deep and quiet, like another world. He really couldn’t say what had happened above.
Meng Qianzi made a soft “oh” sound, her body seeming to relax. Her eyes fixed on the thin beam of the flashlight as she asked: “Did I hit my head?”
Jiang Lian didn’t think so. He gently ran his hand over the back of her head and said, “No, there’s no bump.”
Meng Qianzi sighed, her eyes still dull as she murmured: “You don’t understand. Brain injuries are complicated. Maybe there’s already a blood clot inside. In a few days, I’ll be dead.”
Jiang Lian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Hearing her speak with such logic somewhat reassured him—she probably wasn’t seriously injured, just temporarily disoriented. So he tried to comfort her: “No, you’ll be fine after some sleep.”
Meng Qianzi seemed not to hear him and continued mumbling: “After I die, my bones will have to be collected at Little Meng Mountain. Little Meng Mountain is so desolate—make sure to plant lots of flowers for me.”
Was she arranging her funeral? And so calmly, too. Jiang Lian wasn’t sure how to respond and could only vaguely acknowledge with a “Mmm.”
She continued: “Tell Xin Ci that my three favorite sets of jewelry should be buried with me. Don’t give them to the next Mountain Ghost—they’re mine.”
Even thinking about her jewelry…
Jiang Lian suddenly wanted to hear if she would mention him.
But her thoughts were scattered, jumping from one topic to another—one moment saying Shangui Study needed renovation, the next commenting that the mountain folk needed more training…
Then, out of nowhere, she suddenly mentioned him.
“This man Jiang Lian, he’s quite handsome…”
Jiang Lian felt he should be modest and not react to praise, but since no one else was around, he couldn’t help smiling: so in her eyes, he was quite handsome.
“But not very smart…”
Jiang Lian’s smile instantly collapsed.
Meng Qianzi even tried to seek his agreement: “Right?”
Jiang Lian struggled to respond: “I think he’s… alright.”
Meng Qianzi insisted: “No, no, no.”
She sighed: “I told him not to go down, but he still went. Where was his brain? With just this small dagger…”
She gestured to indicate an inch-long distance: “He wanted to fight the earth dragon. Saving people isn’t about luck—it’s about actual capability, right? I told him it wouldn’t work, but he wouldn’t listen. What happened? Wasn’t he eaten?”
Jiang Lian finally understood: after his warning shout, the earth dragon had immediately appeared. In her confused and chaotic consciousness, she believed he had been eaten by the earth dragon, and now thought she was dying.
She softly repeated: “What happened? Wasn’t he eaten?”
As she spoke, she stared blankly at the thin beam of light. Jiang Lian watched as her eyes gradually reddened, a watery sheen slowly covering them, filling to the roots of her eyelashes.
Suddenly, she couldn’t hold back anymore, and tears streamed down. Jiang Lian heard her say: “I told him not to go, to wait for the equipment. It’s not that I didn’t want to save people, but you can’t trade life for life. He just wouldn’t listen. Swallowed in one bite… I don’t know if it bit him or not, if it hurt…”
She clutched Jiang Lian’s collar and buried her face deep in his chest, so distressed that her shoulders shook: “He never listens to me. It’s so frustrating. So difficult to manage—how is anyone supposed to manage this…”
Gradually, her voice faded. When Jiang Lian looked down, he found she had fallen asleep again.
He watched her for a while, using the back of his hand to wipe the tear stains from her face. He turned off the flashlight and leaned against the wall. After some thought, as if still concerned, he gently stroked the back of her head, feeling inch by inch.
She should be fine. For someone knocked unconscious like this, it was better not to force her awake. She would recover after sufficient rest.
Listening carefully, he detected no movement in the surroundings. The scattered knocking sounds that he had previously thought came from Shen Gun had also ceased—perhaps after their panicked flight, they were now too far away to hear.
He dared not sleep himself; someone had to keep watch, lest they open their eyes to find the earth dragon before them. He’d heard that animals hold grudges even more strongly than humans. Having been injured by Meng Qianzi, the earth dragon would likely not let the matter rest so easily. Although Meng Qianzi had severely damaged one of its eyes, Jiang Lian honestly didn’t think it would cause any substantial harm to the creature.
For beings that had long lived in the dark underground, vision had probably already degenerated. It was essentially blind regardless, with or without eyes.
He held Meng Qianzi, listening to her quiet, even breathing, his other hand gently twirling her hair, rubbing each strand between his fingertips.
His thoughts returned to Duan Wenxi’s message when they first entered the coffin pit.
During her excavation, Duan Wenxi hadn’t encountered any dangerous situations, not even the earth dragon. Had she faced it, there would have been a fierce battle, and her message would have mentioned fighting the earth dragon rather than “do not sound the bronze bell, for if rung, the earth dragon will come.” Moreover, she had clearly explained the setup, mentioning “three threes endless, six sixes infinite,” “Nine-Bell tribe,” and “using hidden resentful energy to suppress the auspicious light of the Phoenix Plume.”
This meant Duan Wenxi had received correct guidance regarding this Phoenix Eye and had successfully taken the Phoenix Plume—this guidance could only have come from Yanluo.
Tracing it back to its source, it came from the Kuang family.
It seemed his previous conjecture was correct. What Yanluo had stolen, besides the Kuang family’s box, might have included some secret manuals or maps mentioning Zhenlong Mountain’s dragon bone fragment and Phoenix Mountain’s Phoenix Plume. Only by obtaining these two items first could one find the Qilin Crystal at Kunlun Mountain.
There was no reason to selflessly share such a great secret with Duan Wenxi. Yanluo must have needed her help for something specific. What could it be? In those days, faith and ideals came first, and the Mountain Ghost’s manpower and money wouldn’t have been very effective…
A thought suddenly struck him as he remembered Meng Qianzi once mentioning that before her, the Mountain Ghost throne had been vacant for thirty-two years.
Meng Qianzi was likely born in the 1990s. With a thirty-two-year vacancy… that meant from the 1960s onward, there had been no Mountain Ghost on the throne.
So in the 1970s, in terms of experience, background, and ability, Duan Wenxi had undoubtedly been the foremost person among the Mountain Ghosts.
For Yanluo to seek the Qilin Crystal at Kunlun Mountain, there must have been some barrier that only the Mountain Ghost could overcome. That’s why he had urgently and enthusiastically invited Duan Wenxi to join him, perhaps even instructing her not to reveal the secret to any third party. So even someone as close as her foster daughter Gao Jinghong remained ignorant of the details, only knowing that Granny Duan was seeking some dragon bone and viewing some afterlife.
“Whoever obtains the Qilin Crystal becomes divine and gains immortality.”
Immortality he could understand—after all, “Yanluo gives birth to Yanluo,” creating a complete replica of oneself to live another life would certainly qualify as genuine immortality.
But divinity?
What was he thinking? Did Yanluo possess even a hint of divinity?
He dismissed the thought with a smile, but strangely, once considered, the idea wouldn’t leave his mind.
What exactly is a god?
Typically, one must first live a long time—mortals have limited lifespans, while deities enjoy thousands of years.
Second, one must possess abilities that ordinary people don’t have, or skills far exceeding the average level—even in modern society, industry leaders and domain experts are often called “gods.”
In ancient times, when productivity was extremely low, early humans lived in constant fear, as if walking on thin ice. A natural disaster, a cold, a fierce beast, or even an improperly treated small wound could be fatal.
While you could only shelter from wind and rain, they could command wind and rain; when you trembled before fierce beasts, they could subdue and control them; when you would drown in water, they could walk as if on solid ground; when you believed death ended everything, they could hear the voices of the departed…
In the eyes of early humans, such people could naturally be called gods.
But considering it differently: what if commanding wind and rain merely meant understanding natural laws? What if subduing wild beasts only meant breaking the barriers between different dimensions to communicate? What if walking on water only meant mastering the ability to harmonize with water’s pulses? What if hearing the voices of the departed merely utilized more advanced tools?
What defines divinity? It’s simply being one step ahead, a few degrees higher—yet in those eras, it created a clear distinction between humans and gods.
But what allowed these “gods” to be one step ahead, a few degrees higher?
Jiang Lian’s mind stirred, and he sat up without realizing it.
Wasn’t it simply a long, enduring life and time?