The dragon had fallen.

How had it fallen? Had it plummeted violently from the high sky? No wonder the surroundings trembled and even the ground tilted.

Meng Qianzi desperately wanted to know what that scene looked like—even hearing someone describe it would have been better than nothing. However, she couldn’t force Shen Gun to go back and continue dreaming—Shen Gun’s dreams were more precious than spring water during a severe drought; in all this time, they had surfaced only once or twice.

With profound melancholy, she cuddled her pillow and gradually fell asleep.

In the middle of the night, she heard Jiang Lian calling her. Meng Qianzi opened her eyes hazily, feeling a fine coolness on her face, and heard Jiang Lian saying softly, “Qianzi, it’s raining, go back to your room to sleep.”

She murmured an agreement, found her shoes with her feet, and groggily returned to her room, collapsing onto the bed as soon as she reached it.

In the morning, she was awakened by the dense sound of rain. Looking through the window with its floral film, she could see lines of rainfall. Overnight, the rain had become heavy.

Meng Qianzi lay there for a while before realizing something was off about the sound, mixed with the rain, that was her phone ringing. She reached around to find it, and once she brought it to her face, a single glance made her sit bolt upright, all drowsiness gone.

The video call request was from Gao Jinghong.

Meng Qianzi hastily tidied her hair, accepted the call, and Gao Jinghong’s face appeared on the screen. Her eyes were red and swollen, her hair somewhat disheveled, and from the background, it seemed she was reclining in bed.

So even the First Madam had moments when she didn’t care about her appearance. Meng Qianzi first blamed the Fifth Mother in her heart, thinking Qiu Biying hadn’t relayed the message tactfully enough. On second thought, given how Gao Jinghong and Elder Lady Duan were as close as mother and daughter, no matter how tactfully the news was delivered, it would inevitably cause deep heartache.

At this moment, Gao Jinghong didn’t resemble a composed elder but rather a helpless child, immediately asking: “Zi’er, could my Auntie Duan be left exposed in the wilderness?”

Meng Qianzi didn’t answer.

Probably, she thought. Would someone like Yanluo, who had killed a person, be kind enough to help with the burial?

But she couldn’t say this outright.

Gao Jinghong’s eyes reddened: “Last night, I dreamed of my Auntie Duan. She said she died uneasily, neither reaching heaven nor settling on earth, feeling exhausted and suffering every day…”

Meng Qianzi said: “First Madam, this is just a case of your daytime worries manifesting in night dreams. You’re too anxious—don’t take it seriously.”

Gao Jinghong didn’t address her comment: “Early this morning, I had Liu Jie’er contact Guishan Zhu in Kunlun. Starting now, they’ll comb the mountain inch by inch. Just thinking that Auntie Duan might not even be properly buried, I just…”

Before she could finish, she suddenly burst into tears.

Meng Qianzi had never imagined Gao Jinghong would cry—the First Madam would at most show melancholy, elegantly sigh, and even her furrowed brows would be perfectly composed.

She sat stunned, not knowing how to console her, regretting having answered the call. Had she not answered, she wouldn’t have seen the First Madam’s collapse. Then she suddenly realized that these people she had always relied on weren’t always as strong as iron; sometimes, they might need her support instead.

Fortunately, Liu Jie’er quickly came to assist, efficiently helping Gao Jinghong lie down: “Oh, Sister Hong, don’t you know your condition? You really shouldn’t push yourself like this…”

Meng Qianzi quietly ended the call.

After a pause, she called Lu Sanming, instructing him to send her the mountain maps of this area as soon as possible.

When Jiang Lian woke up, Pixiu had already arranged breakfast. They had set up a small square table with several small stools under the eaves, and asked whether they wanted to eat rice noodles or oil tea. Early in the morning, Jiang Lian didn’t want flavors that were too complex, so he asked for oil tea. Shen Gun was having difficulty deciding, but hearing Jiang Lian’s choice, he followed suit.

After washing up, they discovered that rice noodles might have been better: the oil tea was too elaborate—tea soup made from simmered pork bones, with a row of small dishes on the side, including green onions, cilantro, rice flowers, crispy fruits, crispy peanuts, rice noodles, and butterfly-shaped fish slices with their skin partially cut. This wasn’t just oil tea; it was practically a hot pot.

Meng Qianzi’s door remained tightly closed; she probably hadn’t gotten up yet.

Rain dripped from the eaves, and the fragrant food on the table created quite an atmospheric dining experience.

Jiang Lian busied himself preparing his oil tea. Though he knew there was little hope, he still asked Shen Gun: “Last night… did you continue dreaming?”

Shen Gun gave him a sidelong glance: “Little Lian Lian, are you hoping I’ll dream up the grand finale?”

Jiang Lian said, “That would be ideal. If we could be lazy, who would want to run around everywhere?”

The oil tea was scalding hot, making it temporarily impossible to drink. Perhaps this bowl of soup, like water in a lake, reminded Shen Gun of the water ghosts: “Hey, Little Lian Lian, the water ghosts only have three surnames.”

That’s right. That’s why they’re called the “Three Surnames of Water Ghosts.” Jiang Lian took a sip of the soup: “Ding, Jiang, and Yi—quite easy to remember.”

“Don’t you think these three surnames are worth pondering?”

Are they? Jiang Lian scooped some rice flowers into his mouth. The rice flowers here weren’t popcorn but glutinous rice that had been steamed, dried, and then fried, creating a crispy, aromatic texture that was satisfying to chew: “Aren’t they all common Chinese surnames?”

Shen Gun looked at him disdainfully: “There are countless people with the surnames Ding, Jiang, and Yi throughout the country. A surname usually has many origins. Last night, I carefully traced the origins of these three surnames and discovered there’s much to learn.”

Jiang Lian wiped his mouth with a napkin from the table, pausing his meal: “Tell me.”

Such attentiveness made Shen Gun feel valued, generating a sense of accomplishment: “For the Yi surname, if you break down the character, you have a ‘sun’ on top and a variant ‘moon’ at the bottom. Legend has it that the Yellow Emperor created the ‘Yi’ character to symbolize the forms of the sun and moon. This surname belongs to the descendants of the Yellow Emperor.”

“The Jiang surname originated from the Shennong clan. Since Yan Emperor was born by the Jiang River, the surname was derived from the water.”

They both seem to have significant origins. Jiang Lian pondered: “What about the Ding surname?”

“The Ding surname isn’t so direct, but one lineage of the Ding surname comes from the Jiang surname. The ‘Book of Surnames’ states ‘system承姜’ (system inherits Jiang), meaning a branch split off from the Jiang surname and became Ding. If the current Ding surname of the water ghost three surnames split from the Jiang surname, then all three water ghost surnames originated from Yan and Huang Emperors, and also…”

At this point, he lowered his voice: “Have you noticed how closed off the three surnames are, not intermarrying with outside surnames?”

Jiang Lian questioned: “I don’t think so. In the video, that girl named Yi Sa, didn’t she have a boyfriend surnamed Zong, called Zong Hang?”

Shen Gun replied irritably: “I’m talking about before! Before!”

Before, yes, that was indeed the case. Jiang Lian nodded.

The three surnames intermarried among themselves, so descendants never ventured beyond these three surnames. Even more astonishing was that the three surnames could absorb outsiders, but with two conditions.

First, the outsider had to change their surname.

This was manageable—changing a surname, if one didn’t particularly care, wasn’t a big deal.

Second, the outsider had to end their lineage.

This meant that if you joined the three surnames, you could never marry or have children for life—you weren’t allowed to leave descendants. This was devastating, considering the traditional Chinese belief that “among the three forms of unfilial conduct, having no posterity is the worst.”

So, combining these two conditions, the implicit meaning was unmistakable: absolutely not, we won’t accept outside surnames.

Jiang Lian murmured: “It’s fortunate that each of the three surnames has many branches, giving them a wide range of marriage options. If there were fewer people, leading to consanguineous marriages over time, that would be…”

Shen Gun thought he was being too superficial: “Do you think such mysterious families would be constrained by issues like consanguineous marriage or generational gaps? You’ve never heard of the Zhanglingsheng family…”

Realizing he had digressed, he brought the topic back: “From the water ghosts’ practices, can you see any pattern?”

No, Jiang Lian tried his luck: “It indicates their family rules are strict?”

Shen Gun sighed: “Little Lian Lian, I’ve truly overestimated your intelligence. Besides observing the whole picture, you need to see through appearances to the essence: on the surface, they are closed off with strict family rules, but thinking deeper, don’t you feel they’re maintaining the… purity of their bloodline?”

Jiang Lian felt a jolt in his heart.

Indeed, with the Ding, Jiang, and Yi surnames intermarrying, their blood relationships had circulated only within these three surnames for thousands of years. If an outsider did join, they weren’t allowed to leave descendants, meaning the bloodline would never be “contaminated.”

Shen Gun added: “Now look at the mountain ghosts—they’re different. These days, we’ve met people surnamed Meng, Liu, Shen, Lu… I suspect if you listed all the mountain ghost surnames, you could compile a hundred-surname book. Which is more ancient and pure, which is closer in physique and bloodline to ancestors from ancient times—isn’t it obvious? So, the reason why the water ghosts are so isolated, why they guard the most core secrets, and why they were guided to the drifting cavern more than twenty years ago, all have a reason.”

As they were talking, there was a voice at the courtyard gate. Looking in that direction, they saw someone wearing a straw rain cape and a bamboo hat enter.

This old-style rain gear was still used only in these remote villages. At first, Jiang Lian thought it was a local until the person stood under the eaves, removed the bamboo hat, revealing soft, slightly damp, long hair. Only then did Jiang Lian recognize her as Meng Qianzi.

She leaned the bamboo hat against the wall, took off the rain cape, shook off the water, and hung it on the wall. As she turned sideways, Jiang Lian saw a bamboo scroll tube strapped to her back.

He greeted her with a smile: “I thought you were still sleeping, but you’ve been up early.”

He then pointed to the table: “Want something to eat? It’s all fresh and warm.”

Meng Qianzi shook her head: “I’ve eaten. I’ve been busy since early morning… This, this is good…”

She pointed to the small dish of rice flowers next to Jiang Lian. Unable to resist, she reached over and took a small pinch, putting it in her mouth. The rice flowers were fried, leaving oil on her fingertips. As she held her fingers out, unsure what to do, Jiang Lian handed her a napkin and pushed a stool toward her: “Sit down and eat.”

Strangely enough, though she had already eaten and hadn’t intended to eat more, his invitation made her naturally sit down. After wiping her hands, she glimpsed Jiang Lian taking a small bowl to ladle soup for her and reminded him: “Give me just a little; I’ve already eaten.”

Jiang Lian, who had initially filled the ladle to the brim, poured some back after her reminder and casually asked: “What have you been busy with?”

At his question, Meng Qianzi’s spirits dampened somewhat.

She had first gone to check Yanluo’s corpse, still harboring some hope for “Yanluo begetting Yanluo.” However, after a day and night, coupled with the warm weather, the corpse had become increasingly nauseating in its decay.

She listlessly stirred her oil tea with a spoon: “How to put it… Rationally, I know not to cry over spilled milk—but every time I think about it, I feel so frustrated. If Yanluo were still alive, how many detours we could have avoided!”

Such a treasure Yanluo was, and they had lost him.

Shen Gun wiped his mouth: “Miss Meng, you’re overthinking. What I’m about to say should make you feel better: Yanluo’s greatest value was his knowledge of Miss Duan and the box’s whereabouts—but finding the box isn’t difficult. Little Lian Lian has suggested that Miss Kuang accompany me to Kunlun. I have great confidence in her blood.”

“As for other aspects, Yanluo probably knew less than we do now.”

Meng Qianzi was surprised: “How do you figure?”

Shen Gun said, “Think from a global perspective. A box and its contents were scattered, taken away by different people—the Kuang family merely guards an empty box, at most a subplot. All of Yanluo’s clues came from interpreting this subplot. How much could he know?”

Jiang Lian nodded: “Yanluo was greedy, profit-seeking, and valued his life. When he fled, abandoning his home, he still carried that box and traveled far to Kunlun. His purpose must have been clear: to find that so-called qilin embryo and consume it for longevity.”

Saying this, he extended his finger to catch some rainwater and drew a circle with a center point on the table, then drew an arrow pointing directly to the center: “Yanluo probably entered this matter from a single point, accidentally approaching the greatest secret, but he wasn’t aware of it. From beginning to end, he only knew this single thread, but now we’ve at least pieced together part of the circle.”

Anyway, being frustrated wouldn’t help; it was better to accept this consolation. Meng Qianzi smiled gracefully: “If Yanluo didn’t know that much, then I feel better.”

Jiang Lian pointed to the tube on her back: “What’s that?”

Only then did Meng Qianzi remember she was carrying something. She removed the strap: “I wanted to check the mountain maps, but the place where they’re stored is a bit far, and they couldn’t send them over immediately. So I had them send electronic versions while they displayed them there, giving me a live stream to read the maps with a discerning eye.”

She opened the tube’s lid and pulled out the papers inside: “These are printed copies. Our mountain maps have records—like library borrowing records—showing who checked out which mountain map and when. In earlier years, these were handwritten; now they can be queried electronically.”

“Remember when Yanluo said he found dragon bone fragments at Zhenlong Mountain? I initially wanted to focus on Zhenlong Mountain’s maps, but when I accidentally opened the records, I discovered that after my Elder Lady Duan visited Five Hundred Alley Village back then, she had checked out Phoenix Mountain’s maps.”

As she said this, she unfolded the A3-sized printout in her hand and pointed to a spot: “Look at this.”

The mountain map drawings weren’t particularly remarkable, merely outlining various mountain shapes. What Meng Qianzi wanted them to see was the annotation dated 1975.

—From the phoenix’s right eye, a living phoenix will fly out.

Shen Gun was quite startled: “The phoenix’s right eye can give birth to phoenixes? Does the phoenix self-reproduce through its eyeball?”

Meng Qianzi laughed helplessly: “No, in Phoenix Mountain, there’s a peak called Phoenix Right Eye.”