After Jiang Lian’s explanation, Shen Gun also felt that the line interpreted by Bai Mei monk indeed pointed to the Sheng family, especially since the Sheng family was another clan with old ties to the mountain ghosts, yet no interaction between them.

He looked hopefully at Meng Qianzi.

Meng Qianzi knew what he was thinking: “Don’t ask me. I don’t know. Nobody knows when the Sheng family moved away; the mountain keepers here just happened to discover that Bawan Mountain was empty. Besides, given how closed off the Sheng family is, I don’t think your friend Wan Fenghua would have any way to help.”

This was true. Wan Fenghua was skilled at finding people, but usually those within normal social systems: like Yanluo, who had been a sanitation worker with an official position, making him relatively easy to find. But for people like the Sheng family, who isolated themselves in the mountains, it would be difficult to know where to start.

After much hesitation, he said, “I’ll try contacting Old Shi. He stays home all year round and never goes out.”

Saying this, he dialed the landline at home on his phone.

Shi Jiaxin answered quickly. To allow Meng Qianzi and Jiang Lian to hear, Shen Gun activated the speakerphone.

A rigid and cold voice came through: “Who is it?”

Shen Gun cleared his throat: “It’s me.”

Recognizing a familiar voice, Shi Jiaxin’s tone softened slightly: “Coming back?”

What a detached roommate, unconcerned about anything, with conversations limited to “leaving” and “returning.”

Shen Gun said, “No. I have a question about the Sheng family. Where did their bells come from?”

The Sheng family bells were made of special materials, impossible to forge themselves.

Shi Jiaxin said, “Don’t know.”

That was normal—secrets aren’t meant to be widely known. Shen Gun continued: “Then… how long has the Sheng family existed? How far back can they be traced?”

Shi Jiaxin answered: “Don’t know that either. The earliest… probably traces back to ape-men.”

Meng Qianzi almost laughed out loud, and Jiang Lian nearly spat out his food. But the answer wasn’t wrong—every person living today carries a long lineage of descendants, traceable not just to ape-men but, with more scientific precision, possibly back to some single-celled organism.

Also, Jiang Lian noticed that Shi Jiaxin wasn’t being clever or trying to lighten the conversation—his voice remained rigid and detached, simply stating facts, unconcerned with the urgency of others.

Shen Gun was irritated: “How is it you don’t know anything?”

Shi Jiaxin replied: “You know the Sheng family isn’t scholarly. In recent decades, few are literate, and they’re constantly relocating to avoid calamity. Even if there were family records, they’d be scattered. Tracing back one or two hundred years would be impressive enough. Before that, no one knew. Don’t bother asking Sheng Xia; she knows even less than I do. Anything else? If not, I’m hanging up.”

The phone beeped with the disconnection tone. Shen Gun held the phone, feeling at a loss: Sheng Xia was Ji Tangtang’s original name. Shi Jiaxin had wronged her years ago, but later benefited from her kindness. So now, though living without attachments or desires, when it came to Ji Tangtang, he was more attentive than with other matters, often saying, “Don’t disturb her without good reason; she just wants to live a peaceful life.”

It seemed they wouldn’t discover more about the Sheng family anytime soon. Although Shen Gun was somewhat disappointed, he wasn’t utterly disheartened: seeking secrets had always been a winding path, rarely straightforward.

He looked at Meng Qianzi: “How about having Road Navigator arrange for us to go to Phoenix Mountain as soon as possible…”

Just then, his phone rang again. The caller ID showed “Home”—it must be Shi Jiaxin calling back.

Shen Gun felt a stir in his heart, instinctively sensing that Shi Jiaxin had remembered something, and quickly activated the speakerphone again.

Shi Jiaxin’s voice was still flat, without any emotional fluctuation: “If you’re interested in the Sheng family’s bells, I have one. I’ll send it to you, and you can study it at your leisure.”

Damn. Having lived together for so long, Shen Gun had never heard him mention possessing a bell. In his excitement, his voice trembled: “You have a bell… what kind of bell?”

“Of the nine Sheng family bells, the Road Bell is primary. The one I have is a Road Bell. The Sheng family has two sets of bells: one set is held by the bell-wielders of each branch, and the other set is buried in the mountains where they live, according to different directions. These are called ‘mountain-stabilizing bells.’ The one I have was dug up, a mountain-stabilizing bell. It’s useless, sitting in the storage room covered in dust. If you want it…”

Shen Gun exclaimed: “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Address.”

Was he going to send it by courier? Such a mysterious item, yet Shi Jiaxin seemed completely unconcerned. Meng Qianzi, fearing it might be lost, hastily instructed Shen Gun: “I’ll have mountain keepers go to collect it, then physically bring it to Guangxi. Don’t mail it—it would be terrible if it got lost.”

Shen Gun relayed this, and Shi Jiaxin was indifferent: “Whatever you prefer.”

He showed no interest in who the woman speaking with Shen Gun was, nor did he ask who these mountain keepers might be. It didn’t matter to him; his struggles were a joke, and others’ struggles were irrelevant.

Rainy weather made travel inconvenient. Lu Sanming checked the weather forecast, finding they had likely hit the local rainy season—it would rain every day. Fortunately, the next day was somewhat cooperative: rain would only come in the afternoon, leaving the morning available for travel.

Nothing more was said that night.

Rising early the next morning, the rain had indeed stopped. Xin Ci came to arrange Meng Qianzi’s hair, even humming a tune: he loved accompanying Meng Qianzi everywhere, as they were always received with high standards, while dangerous matters never reached him. Most of the time, he only had to wait on the periphery, treating it as sightseeing.

After smoothing her hair, he “requested instructions” from Meng Qianzi: “Braided or loose?”

Meng Qianzi considered: “Braided. It’s not convenient to have loose hair when climbing up and down mountains.”

Xin Ci understood, took a fine-toothed comb, and began parting her hair strand by strand, then asked: “Qianzi, what’s the progress between you and that Jiang Lian?”

Meng Qianzi glanced at him through the mirror: “Are you asking out of your curiosity, or on someone else’s behalf?”

Xin Ci answered slickly: “Both. I’m curious, and Old Meng asks when we chat. Also, do you think Road Navigator and the others don’t gossip? I heard him instructing Pixiu’s people, saying they should be courteous to Little Brother Lian. Don’t assume that just because he’s not a Three-Tier Lotus Petal, he might be even higher in the future.”

Meng Qianzi remained silent. There was nothing she could do about this—who told her to be the Throne? She was the focus of gossip everywhere.

She said: “Whoever asked you, tell them there’s nothing, and not to worry needlessly.”

Xin Ci leaned in mysteriously: “Qianzi, I firmly stand with you. I’ll respond exactly as you instruct—but really, there’s nothing?”

Meng Qianzi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. After a pause, she said: “Really nothing.”

Xin Ci frowned, continuing to comb through her hair: “That can’t be.”

That time, when Meng Qianzi had erupted in anger over Jiang Lian’s matter and sent Old Meng away, he’d instinctively felt something must have happened between them. By now, they had spent so much time together, living and traveling together—were things still so lukewarm?

Xin Ci muttered, “Is Jiang Lian the kind who neither initiates nor rejects? Qianzi, is he waiting for you to pursue him?”

Meng Qianzi replied coolly: “Then he’ll be waiting a long time.”

She fell silent, just watching in the mirror as Xin Ci braided her hair strand by strand. After a while, she suddenly said: “Actually, this is quite nice.”

Her interactions with Jiang Lian were comfortable, and the distance between them was just right. If he came any closer, as Qiu Biying had said, she would probably need to “make a clean break.” So wasn’t this better? No awkwardness, no embarrassment, no difficulty.

Xin Ci grumbled: “But it can’t always be like this. Relationships between people either progress or regress; I’ve never heard of maintaining a permanently fixed distance. If he doesn’t advance, then you should. If you never advance, and he finds this suspension pointless, he’ll probably retreat.”

After a long silence, Meng Qianzi said, “Then let him retreat.”

After breakfast, the convoy set out for Phoenix Mountain.

Though called Phoenix Mountain, it should be called the Phoenix Mountain Range, comprising more than just one or two peaks—it stretched for dozens of kilometers across four counties, with countless peaks. The more notable ones included Niudong Slope, Goat Horn Mountain, White Horse Mountain, and so on, all recorded in county annals. The unnamed ones either remained anonymous or were casually named by locals.

Phoenix Right Eye was one of those nameless peaks in official records, known only in oral tradition among surrounding villagers. The peak wasn’t high, and its shape—well, if you insisted it resembled a chicken’s head or a phoenix’s head, no one would argue. After all, Chinese scenic spot naming either poetically sought to convey a feeling or, less charitably, forced far-fetched connections.

On one side of the “phoenix head” summit was a cave, which from a distance perhaps resembled an eye, and since its position was on the right, it became known as Phoenix Right Eye.

It was a wild mountain, not included in any tourism planning. Anyone could climb it. The group parked their vehicles at the foot of the mountain and headed upward. Pixiu explained that residents from nearby counties and townships occasionally came for picnics and outings—no wonder they had encountered non-biodegradable waste like packaging bags several times along the way, as well as abandoned stone stoves and the blackened ground beneath them.

Upon reaching the cave, it was indeed just an ordinary cave. Various electronic instruments detected nothing unusual. With the experience of Xiangxi in mind, Meng Qianzi worried whether this cave might also connect to some mountain intestine, but after careful investigation, the conclusion was: it was just a cave.

It seemed impossible that a living phoenix could fly out from this cave.

After searching thoroughly, Meng Qianzi felt somewhat tired and sat at the cave entrance to rest. The scenery was ordinary, but being at the peak, with the cool breeze, it was quite pleasant.

Shen Gun looked around and reached a preliminary conclusion: “A decoy! This must be a decoy. The real Phoenix Right Eye isn’t here, though it’s probably very close.”

Just like the verse in Xuandan Fenglin, the so-called “pupils dripping oil, tongue moving chaotically”—at first glance, it seemed to describe the scene before one’s eyes, but upon closer examination, it pointed to something else entirely.

Jiang Lian had the same feeling, but for the moment, he didn’t know which direction to search in. Not wanting to just sit around, he continued wandering around the cave. Then his phone beeped with an incoming message. After looking at it for a while, he said with a wry smile, “Xu Keyong sent over some tidbits. I’ll forward them to you.”

Meng Qianzi was momentarily confused before remembering that Xu Keyong was one of Wan Fenghua’s people, who had been liaising with Jiang Lian and providing information about Yanluo. His sudden contact likely meant discoveries, but what were these “tidbits”?

Soon, the message arrived, and she opened it to look.

It turned out that Xu Keyong had initially investigated Yanluo almost entirely through the “sanitation worker” angle. Later, when Jiang Lian learned that Yanluo had once lived in Five Hundred Alley Village, he provided this clue to Xu Keyong, asking him to put more effort into this lead.

Five Hundred Alley Village had been abandoned for decades, with the original residents long relocated to unknown places. Even with all the effort in the world, it would be difficult to make progress. Xu Keyong complained bitterly but, upholding the principle of “customer first,” grudgingly accepted the task. He started with the neighboring counties and townships: when Yanluo lived in Five Hundred Alley Village, surely he must have gone out for errands? And upon going out, he must have interacted with people? With Yanluo’s unique appearance, wouldn’t someone have remembered him?

The investigation yielded results, though sparse, mostly instances of people having “glimpsed” him, hardly substantial. Struck by inspiration, Xu Keyong compiled these as “tidbits” and formally sent them over to show he hadn’t ceased investigating. Look, we’ve uncovered some peripheral information!

Meng Qianzi scrolled through the phone screen, pulling down to read more.

A villager from a neighboring township recalled that Yanluo was a peddler who occasionally carried goods into the village, exchanging needles, thread, candles, matches, and other items for eggs.

So these were the “tidbits.” Meng Qianzi was unimpressed; in those days, this was how most rural people made a living.

Another person said Yanluo would also help people repair bowls and sharpen knives. Once, when a knife edge was nicked during sharpening, he nearly got into a fight with the owner.

These were all trivial matters; no wonder they were called tidbits.

By the time she reached the last item, her interest had waned, but suddenly she caught sight of the words “Zhenlong Mountain” and felt a jolt of interest, quickly focusing her attention.

It was from a villager living at the foot of Zhenlong Mountain who, as a child, had seen Yanluo while gathering firewood for his family. The impression had been quite profound.

At that time, Yanluo had been sharpening a knife.

Knife sharpening wasn’t unusual. Mountain dwellers often encountered dulled blades when cutting wood and would frequently sit down on the spot, find a stone, pour some water on it, and scrape away for a while. The villagers’ strong impression was because Yanluo had been sitting on the edge of a cliff while sharpening his knife.

The tidbits also quoted a long passage from the villager: “Who would sit at the edge of a cliff to sharpen a knife? And that cliff edge isn’t ordinary. We call it the ‘Wind-Coming Mouth.’ One second, everything’s fine; the next, a gust blows in. Once a man stood there to urinate, and whoosh, both man and urine were blown off, dead as a doornail.”

“I called out to him, saying it was too dangerous, that when the wind came, he wouldn’t be able to stay seated. But he ignored me. Good intentions taken for donkey liver and lungs! So I stopped caring. As I passed by, I noticed he had a rope tied around his waist, secured to a large tree nearby—seems he knew it was called Wind-Coming Mouth and was afraid of being blown off too, so I left him alone.”

…

Wind-Coming Mouth…

Meng Qianzi beckoned to Pixiu.

These days, Pixiu has been helping Meng Qianzi with tasks delegated through Lu Sanming. Being suddenly called forward directly, he couldn’t help feeling honored.

Meng Qianzi asked him: “There’s a Wind-Coming Mouth on Zhenlong Mountain where the wind is very strong. Do you know about it?”

Having been stationed in the Dragon-Phoenix Embrace area for years, how could Pixiu not be familiar with the surrounding mountain formations? Moreover, knowing the boss was coming, he had crammed a review, fearing precisely this kind of pop quiz.

He quickly nodded: “Yes, there are several. Due to the mountain’s shape and formation, the airflow comes suddenly and fiercely. They say people have been blown off. When ordinary people travel past a Wind-Coming Mouth, even if they’re still several meters away, they don’t dare stop and hurry past it.”

Seeing Meng Qianzi questioning someone, Jiang Lian and Shen Gun instinctively gathered to listen. Upon hearing terms like “Wind-Coming Mouth” and “strong wind,” they exchanged glances, both recalling Duan Wenxi’s annotation on Zhenlong Mountain’s map.

Wind rises, dragon emerges.

Sure enough, Meng Qianzi had thought along the same lines: “When the wind blows strongly, are there any legends of locals seeing dragons?”

Pixiu was startled and stuttered after a moment: “Miss Meng, although Zhenlong Mountain is named ‘Dragon-Subduing Mountain,’ there have never been reports of anyone seeing dragons. If you’re asking about dragon statues, those do exist…”

Just as he was speaking, a muffled thunderclap rolled across the sky.

The weather forecast was accurate. It had just turned afternoon, and the rain arrived right on schedule.

Pixiu looked up at the sky, somewhat concerned: “Miss Meng, we should hurry down. In this thunderstorm, being at a high peak, if lightning were to strike…”

She agreed and stood up, signaling for everyone to head down the mountain.

Unexpectedly, the rain came extremely quickly. Before they had gone far, it was pouring down in sheets, turning the world into a white blur where even those nearby couldn’t be seen clearly.

Originally, to prepare for rain, everyone had brought rain gear, but now umbrellas couldn’t be opened—they would immediately invert—and raincoats were ineffective. The raindrops hit like soybeans, painful whether one wore a raincoat or not. Amidst the chaos, they suddenly heard a rumbling sound.

Before Meng Qianzi could react, she heard Pixiu shout: “Terrible! The mountain is sliding! Run quickly!”

Mountain sliding, also called “slope slipping” or “cover sliding,” refers to what’s commonly known as a “mudslide.”

As soon as he spoke, several mountain keepers who couldn’t keep their composure had already rushed down the mountain. Such events have a chain reaction, where one goes, others follow. Soon, a stream of people had followed suit. Meng Qianzi heard the rumbling sound still far away and doubted whether it was coming from this peak. Moreover, common sense dictated that when encountering a mudslide, one shouldn’t run downward but perpendicular to the mudslide’s flow.

These were mountain keepers, yet they were making such a basic error. Meng Qianzi felt a rush of irritation, further agitated by the torrential rain, and shouted: “Don’t panic…”

Before she could finish, she suddenly felt someone quickly grab her hand.

Simultaneously, there was a thunderous sound from above their heads. This time, Phoenix Right Eye was truly experiencing a mudslide.