Just as Jiang Lian thought he would die in the water sphere, he suddenly felt a strong suction force. His body moved involuntarily, squeezed out of the water sphere, and crashed heavily onto the ground.

This fall was completely unexpected, making stars dance before his eyes, but when his hand touched Meng Qianzi’s blood, feeling it cold and sticky, he instantly became alert. Crawling to her side on all fours, he immediately saw two gashes on her legs where blood was flowing.

Jiang Lian’s heart raced with panic as he reached for the Mountain Ghost basket, only to grab at emptiness. He then remembered he had abandoned it earlier. Now he was truly empty-handed, without even tools to tear cloth for bandages.

He grabbed the hem of the T-shirt under his jacket, bit down hard to tear it, then forcefully ripped it into strips. With trembling hands, he bandaged her wounds before reaching to feel her chest. The cave was bitterly cold, and he had just been soaked in the water sphere. With his mind in chaos and thoughts scattered, he couldn’t focus enough to feel any warmth or heartbeat, causing cold sweat to break out on his forehead.

He then tried to check her carotid pulse, but forgot where exactly to press. He merely explored around her neck, repeatedly asking himself: Why can’t I find it? Why can’t I find it?

Suddenly, his fingertips detected an extremely faint rhythm. For a moment, he couldn’t process what it meant. He froze briefly, then was overcome with wild joy. He pulled her body into his arms, calling repeatedly: “Qianzi, Qianzi.”

After a pause, he grasped one of her hands and slowly rubbed her cold fingertips one by one.

Kuang Tongsheng was a corpse-herder who often spoke of matters related to the dead. Most of it was probably just hearsay, but Jiang Lian had heard it so often since childhood that he remembered it well.

For instance, Kuang Tongsheng would say that when people die, the coldness starts from their hands and feet, then gradually creeps into their heart. So if you don’t want someone to die, you must rub their fingertips warm, and then, more drastically, pinch and prick them to restore their sensation.

Or that when a soul drifts away from the body, it’s in a daze, unable to determine direction. At such times, you must call to them, continuously, without interruption—even if your voice bleeds, you must continue. Your voice becomes a lifeline that can bind and pull them back.

Jiang Lian hadn’t believed these things. He would turn aside to whisper to Meiying or Wei Biao that Master Gan was being superstitious again.

But now, he had become superstitious too. When something happens to you, you suddenly understand what it means to try any cure in desperation.

…

After an unknown period, he heard Meng Qianzi make a very faint murmur.

Jiang Lian felt his eyes burning, but dared not look down, fearing it was just his imagination. He held her tighter and tentatively asked: “Qianzi?”

He strained his ears to catch every subtle sound in the cave, and finally clearly heard her call to him: “Is that Jiang Lian?”

Jiang Lian’s heart settled into place. He forgot to speak and just kept nodding. Looking down, he saw her eyes slightly closed, her face deathly pale, her lips ashen.

She said softly, “I was dreaming, dreaming I was burning in fire, but I’m so cold, my whole body aches.”

Jiang Lian reached out and gently brushed away a few strands of hair stuck to her face: “You weren’t burned by fire. You’re injured—crocodile teeth caught your leg, that’s why you’re hurt. It’s nothing, just a small wound.”

It’s nothing, just a small wound.

These words were as much for himself as they were for her.

Meng Qianzi’s eyes opened slightly. Her head felt heavy, her consciousness like a stone weighing down her skull, pulling it lower. Her vision was blurry, seeing people as if in double, and everything around her felt light, as if it might float away at any moment.

“Just you?”

Jiang Lian said, “Everyone wanted to come, but I’m the smartest, so I came first.”

A weak smile flitted across Meng Qianzi’s lips. She closed her eyes and said, “Talking nonsense again. Who would want to come here?”

Seeing her breathing weaken and her eyes close, Jiang Lian felt a surge of fear. He quickly shook her: “Qianzi, don’t sleep. Talk to me.”

Meng Qianzi felt overwhelming fatigue, too exhausted to even open her eyelids. She said softly, “I’ll just sleep for a while. Wake me up later.”

But Jiang Lian knew that if she fell asleep now, she might never wake up again. Cold sweat poured down his back as he desperately tried to find things to talk about: “Qianzi, I just met your Seventh Mother. Your Seventh Mother… is formidable. She almost had me tied up.”

This did indeed capture a bit of her attention: “My Seventh Mother? Did she give you a hard time? She’s just like that—her words are harsh, but she’s not a bad person. If she said… unpleasant things, don’t take them to heart.”

Jiang Lian smiled: “I won’t. I’ve had to beg for food before—what harsh words haven’t I heard? If you’ve ever met someone who kicked you several times for a piece of bread, what’s a few unpleasant words?”

He hoped she would be interested in this topic, so he could elaborately describe how he was kicked back then, how he tumbled over and over, to spark her interest and keep her spirit up. But Meng Qianzi only responded with a soft “mm” and said no more.

Jiang Lian kept trying to talk to her, saying at one point that the Water Ghosts would arrive soon, at another that Meng Jinsong had canceled his leave and was waiting above—but nothing seemed effective. Her eyes became increasingly reluctant to open, and her voice seemed to roll in her throat. By the end, she wasn’t even responding with “mm.”

Jiang Lian could feel her body going limp. She was about to fall asleep again.

He pinched her back hard, watching her brows furrow suddenly in pain, and asked: “Qianzi, have I ever told you about my mother?”

Meng Qianzi paused.

Her hanging hand slowly hooked onto the edge of Jiang Lian’s clothes. She opened her eyes to look at him: “Didn’t you say you couldn’t remember?”

She had specifically asked Kuang Meiying about this, and Meiying had said Jiang Lian was too young then to remember, and he had never mentioned his childhood to anyone.

Jiang Lian said, “I remember. I remember very clearly.”

—

He was very young then, living in a poor, small mountain village. There was no concept of a name as such—the other children called him “Charcoal Head” and would mock him, pointing at charcoal cinders.

His father was a lame man in his forties or fifties, fierce, dark-skinned, fond of drinking, and always carrying iron tongs. He would suddenly become angry and mindlessly swing the tongs at him.

Whenever he was beaten, the crazy Second Aunt would rush out to shield him and take the blows instead. She was a slovenly woman, disheveled and dirty, who worked all day and tended the fire by the stove. When his father beat her, he was extremely vicious, cursing her as a “hen that doesn’t lay eggs.” Occasionally, he would also rant about a “cheap son.”

He had no mother. Everyone said his mother was dead, but secretly, villagers would whisper—he had overheard them a few times—that the crazy Second Aunt was his mother.

Curious, he had once asked the crazy Second Aunt. She would only giggle, laughing until saliva ran down her lips. He found it disgusting and thought having such a mother would be embarrassing, so he never asked again.

Looking carefully, the crazy Second Aunt was very beautiful, and sometimes… quite elegant, completely at odds with the village and that father.

—

Meng Qianzi was entranced by the story. All her energy was focused on listening. She hazily asked: “This Second Aunt of yours, was she kidnapped and brought there? Driven insane?”

Jiang Lian seemed lost in thought: “I don’t know. I don’t know. When I was little, I despised her madness. I would throw stones at her, spit on her, and deliberately torment her. She never got angry, just looked at you with a foolish smile.”

“But later, you knew she was good to you, so you stopped bullying her.”

—

The crazy Second Aunt liked to play with him, playing hide-and-seek. But he quickly grew bored because the crazy Second Aunt always hid in the same cave, covering her face with tree branches as if this would make her invisible to him.

A crazy person would always be crazy.

Then came that night.

It was a winter evening. Before sleeping, he had just been inexplicably beaten by his drunken father and went to bed wailing. He remembered that when he fell asleep, his pillowcase was half-soaked, and outside, the wind howled, making the window paper rise and fall.

In the middle of the night, he was startled awake.

Opening his eyes, he saw the crazy Second Aunt.

She wasn’t crazy anymore. She had washed up, her hair neatly coiled, wearing city clothes he had never seen before—summer and autumn wear.

In such cold weather, wasn’t the crazy Second Aunt cold?

He looked at her delicately curved eyebrows and noticed her eyes were very bright today, different from any other time, filled with burning light.

Like handling a doll, not caring if he was comfortable or not, she stiffly dressed him in clothes—a thick cotton jacket, old cotton shoes, a scarf with holes—as if he were about to embark on a long journey.

He was confused. Glancing aside, he saw a cloth bag by the bedside, stuffed with large white steamed buns and colorful fruit candies.

The crazy Second Aunt unwrapped a fruit candy and put it in his mouth, saying: “Child, listen to me. What I’m about to say, you may not understand, but you must remember every word. When you’re educated and understand more, you’ll comprehend.”

He had never seen the crazy Second Aunt so solemn. He stared at her blankly, forgetting to chew the candy in his mouth.

He only remembered that the candy seemed to be orange-flavored.

She said: “I am your mother, but that man…”

Her face was full of contempt, and she spat: “…is not your father. Your surname is Jiang, your name is Jiang Lian—Jiang as in great river, Lian as in tempered steel.”

“You must leave. That cave where I always took you to play hide-and-seek—don’t mind the darkness, keep walking in. There’s a small hole, and you’re small enough to crawl through.”

“Once through, there’s a path. Follow it and keep running, run out, don’t look back, and never look back for the rest of your life.”

“Your father was killed, and your mother has suffered for so many years. Your mother is going to exact revenge with her own hands. Don’t worry about it, don’t hate, and don’t come back to inquire about this in the future. Mother will end everything. You run away, forget all this, just keep running forward. You should have a clean life.”

With that, the crazy Second Aunt picked up the cloth bag with one hand and pulled him out with the other. He stumbled as she dragged him.

When the door opened, the wind howled. The villagers were all asleep, and it was very dark outside. Only this room still had a light on.

He wanted to go back inside.

But the crazy Second Aunt stood in the doorway like a door god. She stuffed the cloth bag into his arms and said: “Go, go now.”

As she spoke, she pushed him.

He hugged the cloth bag tightly but stood still, staggering.

The crazy Second Aunt squatted down and called him softly: “Jiang Lian.”

“Don’t be afraid. I know you’re young and will be scared alone. You might suffer a lot, be bullied, and go hungry, but your mother can’t be with you anymore. You must be smart, be brave. When something doesn’t seem right, run, keep running.”

“Your life isn’t here. Mother can’t send you off, but mother blesses you. Hope your heart flows like a river, strong as tempered steel. Don’t hate, don’t feel the world owes you. Live well, and in the future, you’ll surely meet people you think are worthy and live the most fulfilling days…”

He didn’t understand, just hugging the cloth bag, wanting to cry.

The crazy Second Aunt lowered her hand. He saw she was holding a brightly polished, sharp knife.

She said: “Won’t you go? If you don’t, I’ll kill you.”

Out of fear, he finally took steps, crying. After running about ten meters, he looked back and saw that the crazy Second Aunt was also crying. But she quickly wiped away her tears with the hand holding the knife, stepped into the room, and closed the door with a bang.

That door was forever closed to him from then on. He could only run, run forward with all his might.

He crawled through the pitch-black cave and then through the small hole that only a child could fit through. Indeed, there was a path—a path he had never seen before, winding and twisting, like a fine thread gently wrapped around the undulating mountains. He didn’t know where this path led.

But run.

He hugged the cloth bag tightly and ran panting. Above, clouds gathered; beside him, tree shadows swayed; all over the mountains, insect sounds rustled—he had always thought there were no insects in winter.

Passing a sharp turn, he sensed something and suddenly stopped, looking toward the depths of the mountain hollow.

At the limit of his vision, he saw a leaping, roaring fire, torn by the strong wind, flaunting across the ink-black canvas.

—

Jiang Lian stopped here.

He looked down to see Meng Qianzi’s eyes full of tears. Somehow finding strength, her hand climbed up his clothes, then gently touched his cheek. She said: “You really have… suffered so much since childhood.”

Jiang Lian smiled, his vision somewhat blurry. He raised his hand to hold hers and said, “It wasn’t so bad.”

Those hardships, those sufferings—he hadn’t endured them alone. Hadn’t her gaze also penetrated through the mountain-like years to focus on his small figure, crying for him?

It wasn’t so bad.

“What about later? Did you go back when you grew up?”

Jiang Lian nodded.

—

He had gone back, guided by memory. He didn’t enter the village but went to the mountain pass where he had once stopped and looked back.

He could still see that mountain hollow, all lush and green. A highway had been built into the mountains, with vehicles coming and going, quite lively. The passing drivers were friendly, with several stopping to ask if he needed a ride.

He smiled and declined. Later, he walked out of the mountains on foot and bought a few pounds of pears from a fruit stand set up by the roadside. He washed them with water provided and ate one on the spot.

There were many road workers at the stand, chatting casually with the old man selling pears.

Someone mentioned that this area was wealthy. The old man shook his head repeatedly: “No, no. Fifteen or twenty years ago, it was poor. Men couldn’t even find wives. They had to buy them…”

He lowered his voice: “Some even kidnapped. They targeted outside couples passing through, killed the man, kept the woman…”

The road workers gasped in shock. Jiang Lian picked up the remaining pears and left the stand.

His mother had told him she would end everything with her own hands, that he shouldn’t concern himself, shouldn’t remember, that he should just have a clean life.

He was grateful for this kindness. He tried not to harbor hatred and always smiled at everyone and everything. He didn’t know if he had truly achieved a “heart like a river, strong as tempered steel,” but he strived to do so, not to fail her injunction, not to fail her hope, not to fail those tear-filled eyes reflecting the gleam of a knife.

—

Meng Qianzi didn’t know how to comfort Jiang Lian.

She closed her eyes, her voice as faint as a drift, feeling her words were clumsy and poor: “Jiang Lian, you will be fine, surely fine. You will meet people you think are worthy and live the best days…”

Jiang Lian looked down at her: “I think I’ve met someone worthy, but she just wants to sleep and doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Meng Qianzi opened her eyes and looked at Jiang Lian’s face.

He was truly exhausted. Due to a lack of sleep, dark circles had formed under his eyes. His entire body was soaked, clothes clinging to him, the T-shirt underneath torn to strips.

In such a wretched state, he still kept his spirits up, continuously talking to her, just so she wouldn’t fall asleep.

Meng Qianzi smiled and said softly, “I can’t lift my head. Lower yours a bit. I want to talk to you.”

Jiang Lian made a sound of agreement and lowered his head.

Meng Qianzi tilted her face up and gently kissed his lips.

All along, she had pretended not to understand, her heart turning over and over. In the face of death, such hesitation seemed pointless.

Jiang Lian didn’t move at first. Then, Meng Qianzi saw him smile—the kind of smile he tried to hide but couldn’t. He didn’t dare kiss back too forcefully, just gently pressed his lips against hers, then reminded her: “Don’t sleep. Talk to me. Let’s chat, talk about the past, talk about the future. Rescue will arrive soon.”

Meng Qianzi buried her head in his chest and softly agreed. The heat on her cheeks and the burning on her lips came a moment later.

At least now, she didn’t want to sleep.

After a pause, she looked up and asked him: “Didn’t you bring me something to eat?”

Good—she was thinking about hunger, showing her will wasn’t as scattered as before. Jiang Lian felt somewhat regretful: he had considered this point and specifically brought a Mountain Ghost basket containing energy bars and water, but everything was lost when entering this cave.

Not wanting to simply answer “no,” Jiang Lian futilely reached into his pockets, searching through his jacket: “Let me see…”

As he searched, his hand suddenly stopped.

After a pause, he asked her: “Would you like some chocolate?”

From his pocket, he pulled out a chocolate bar, deformed, half its original size after multiple soakings, but still wrapped in tin foil.

(End of Volume Seven)