Just as Jiang Lian had anticipated, the Water Ghost’s arrival came twelve hours later, but these twelve hours didn’t feel long to him.

On the contrary, time passed incredibly fast.

He had been talking with Meng Qianzi the entire time, telling her things he had always been reluctant to share with others.

Many things he thought he had long forgotten, but surprisingly, when he spoke about them, the words flowed endlessly as if the memories were right before his eyes: like how scorching hot freshly fried oil cakes were, as he had once grabbed one and run; like how old newspapers provided no insulation against the wind—he had once wrapped himself in a dozen layers of old newspapers under a broken bridge during the coldest days of winter, yet still froze so badly that he saw stars.

He had once thought that talking about these experiences would make him sad or upset, but surprisingly, it didn’t at all. Instead, he felt somewhat fortunate that he had accumulated so many strange and extraordinary experiences to share with her.

Meng Qianzi listened the whole time, sometimes laughing, clutching his sleeve more tightly, and occasionally speaking herself. Although Jiang Lian didn’t let her talk much, she still insisted, as if, after listening to so much from him, it wouldn’t be fair if she didn’t share something of her own.

So Jiang Lian learned that she didn’t want her bones to be collected at Little Meng Mountain after death, because it was so remote that no one ever passed by; she dreamed of abdicating her Mountain Ghost throne, because she always felt that being in that position was like wearing rigid armor that prevented her from being truly herself; she had once eloped with someone—though she didn’t like the man, but had no choice, as an elopement needed a male lead.

…

They kept talking like this, sometimes laughing, and occasionally, he would lower his head to kiss her eyebrows, eyes, and lips, gently rubbing his chin against her cheeks and temples.

And sometimes, they would suddenly both fall silent, looking up at that circle of phoenix quills, as well as that strange water sphere.

Though confined in a small space with life hanging by a thread, their spirits expanded endlessly, as if they were simply sitting shoulder to shoulder on an ordinary starlit night, feeling the breeze and watching the lights of countless homes, the clouds gathering and dispersing.

When the world was vast, troubles were many, but now with the earth narrowed to their elbows, they were carefree, without desires or demands.

Meng Qianzi had been sucked in by a powerful force—in her words, as soon as she entered the water, this force pulled her in. Otherwise, with her swimming skills, she would have been swallowed alive by the giant crocodile long ago. The suction was so swift that despite the crocodile’s fierce pursuit, it never caught up with her.

Jiang Lian, however, had struggled inside the water sphere, like a chick breaking out of its shell, pecking and pushing, using every ounce of strength in his body to emerge.

What was this water sphere all about? Did it treat men and women differently?

And since the real phoenix quills were here, how to we explain Grandmother Duan’s note saying, “Duan Wenxi took the phoenix quill from here”? What had she taken away?

On this matter, they had a small disagreement.

Jiang Lian believed that Grandmother Duan had probably taken a pheasant feather, that she had been deceived—after all, she was used to being tricked, one time after another, always suffering bad luck and falling just short.

Meng Qianzi defended her grandmother, thinking she wouldn’t have mistaken a pheasant feather for a treasure. There were so many phoenix quills; perhaps Duan Wenxi had only obtained one or two and thought that was all there was.

…

Finally, they both grew tired, truly exhausted, unable to keep going on willpower alone. Jiang Lian felt that even if he propped his eyelids open with matchsticks, the eyeballs underneath would still be asleep.

They had to sleep, but didn’t dare both sleep at once, so they agreed to take turns—you sleep first while I watch over you, then I’ll wake you and you can watch over me.

While Meng Qianzi slept, Jiang Lian held her fingers, covering her palm with his, listening to her breathing and silently counting the frequency until he himself became disoriented, only then waking her.

When it was his turn, he asked Meng Qianzi to count to one hundred before waking him—he feared that if he slept too deeply, she might also fall asleep.

Meng Qianzi readily agreed.

However, when she reached one hundred, she didn’t wake him. He was too exhausted, and she wanted to let him sleep a little longer.

She wouldn’t fall asleep herself; she kept one hand on her thigh wound, and whenever she felt drowsy, she would probe and poke at it. When the wound throbbed with pain, sleep would be the last thing on her mind.

She wasn’t afraid of the wound becoming infected, nor did she care if the flesh rotted away. When someone was desperately good to you, what did losing a piece of flesh matter?

But eventually, Jiang Lian woke up on his own, his brow deeply furrowed, his eyeballs moving beneath his eyelids before suddenly opening.

Meng Qianzi calmly said, “I’ve only counted to fifty.”

Jiang Lian stared at her and said, “You liar.”

He had had a dream where Master Gan was conducting a ghost procession—a vast army of corpses coming from who knows where and going who knows where.

He had counted them one by one, from one to a hundred, then from one to a hundred again, until suddenly he was struck with fear, feeling he had overslept.

So, how could she have only counted to fifty?

Meng Qianzi lowered her eyelids, looking guilty, and said, “Well… if we don’t even have the most basic trust, then maybe we should break up.”

Jiang Lian felt somewhat hurt: “I just took a nap, and as soon as I woke up, I get dumped?”

They both laughed. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his ear tickled by her fine hair.

This was the best of times.

The best of times are when you tease and I laugh, unconcerned with others, with the sky still and the wind quiet.

Later, when he happened to look up, he suddenly saw a face sink into the water sphere.

As it turned out, a person’s form and features became somewhat distorted in that water sphere, like looking at someone through a magnifying glass—eyes elongated, nose pulled askew.

Someone had arrived.

During these twelve hours, Shen Gun had been downcast, anxious, yet also determined.

He was downcast from the shame of facing the Mountain Ghost, always feeling that the root of everything lay with himself—if not for that initial slip, none of this would have happened.

He was anxious about Jiang Lian, who had not surfaced since entering the water. Shen Gun’s heart teetered like a seesaw—one moment believing he must have succeeded, the next thinking he and Meng Qianzi had both been eaten.

As for his determination, he was committed to fulfilling his responsibilities: if Jiang Lian truly didn’t return, then Kuang Meiying’s situation would fall entirely on his shoulders.

So Shen Gun had barely been above ground, spending half his time pondering over Duan Wenxi’s note, particularly puzzled by the phrase “what makes one a god.” He vaguely felt that a god was such a great and omnipotent being—how could someone like Yanluo, who even wearing dragon robes wouldn’t look like a prince, who after consuming the Qilin crystal might at best live another lifetime or two, become a god?

He couldn’t understand it.

The other half of his time was spent sitting by the water’s edge, waiting.

In the interim, Meng Jinsong came in with a detection device and squatted beside him. After several operations, he looked down at the images on the detector and showed signs of joy.

Shen Gun glanced at the detector.

The image was just the same as before: only the giant crocodile at the bottom, lying motionless like it was dead.

He felt an inexplicable surge of antipathy: this Meng Jinsong claimed to be Miss Meng’s personal assistant for over a decade, yet now when Miss Meng’s fate was unknown, he showed no anxiety and even smiled—what was this? Did the Mountain Ghost sect stipulate that when the boss died, the assistant took over?

So he snapped at him: “You’re just waiting here doing nothing?”

Meng Jinsong said, “You’re a lotus petal, I’m also a lotus petal—don’t laugh at your brother. Aren’t you just waiting too?”

Shen Gun’s face grew hot as he defended himself: “That’s because I can’t swim…”

“You think I’m much better? I could paddle maybe a few dozen meters at most.”

Shen Gun was speechless. Honestly, apart from waiting for the Water Ghost, he couldn’t think of any other solution either.

Meng Jinsong smiled: “Now it’s Seventh Auntie who’s in charge, not me. And even if I were in charge, I’d still seek instructions from above—having been an assistant for most of my life, I might occasionally pay lip service while doing my own thing in small matters, but in big issues, I never dare make decisions on my own. I’m set in my ways, can’t change now.”

After a pause, he murmured: “The aunties chose me as an assistant precisely because of this trait.”

Such honesty left Shen Gun with nothing to say against him, though he still grumbled: “But you’re not even worried.”

Meng Jinsong smiled again: “Of course I’m worried. But does worry have to be expressed through fidgeting and scratching one’s head?”

He held the detector in front of Shen Gun and asked: “Do you notice anything?”

What was there to notice? Shen Gun was puzzled.

Meng Jinsong said, “This doesn’t show Jiang Lian’s body. Most people would think he might have been eaten by the giant crocodile, too.”

“However large the crocodile is, an adult human would still be a hefty meal for it. I’ve consulted with experts who say crocodiles generally won’t attack and eat humans unless they’re starving or threatened. Plus, they can go without food for quite some time, sometimes eating only once or twice a year.”

“Assuming it ate Qianzi, it couldn’t possibly have eaten Jiang Lian so soon afterward. If Jiang Lian had been bitten to death, his body would either float up or sink to the bottom—either way, the detector would find him.”

“Since nothing is detected, it proves Jiang Lian’s guess was right—there is a strange place beneath the crocodile’s belly, and he successfully reached it.”

“Qianzi is either there too, or in the crocodile’s stomach—a fifty-fifty chance.”

He patted Shen Gun’s shoulder: “I choose to think positively.”

Shen Gun’s heart pounded rapidly; he didn’t even notice when Meng Jinsong left.

He hadn’t expected that a detector unable to find anyone would provide the strongest evidence that they might still be safe.

The Water Ghost sent only one person, who wasn’t even from the three Water Ghost families.

His surname was Zong, Zong Hang.

When Xian Qionghua saw him being brought over by the Mountain Dwellers, her first thought was: Is this a mistake?

Mountain Dwellers all possessed a certain quality distinct from ordinary people. Not just the Mountain Dwellers themselves, but also their “good friends” had this quality. In ancient times, it might have been called “jianghu spirit”; nowadays, it was hard to describe—something one could understand but not easily explain.

But Zong Hang didn’t have it. He was clean-cut and looked quite docile. When surrounded by so many Mountain Dwellers staring at him, he even showed a hint of shyness.

She would have believed it if someone said he was a college student who had taken a wrong turn.

The Mountain Dwellers escorting Zong Hang to the tent also whispered among themselves. Pixiu quietly said to Lu Sanming, “Brother Lu, this guy doesn’t smell of fish—doesn’t seem like a fisherman.”

Lu Sanming pretended to be worldly-wise: “Of course, he’d clean up and dress nicely for a social call.”

Pixiu nodded in sudden understanding.

…

Xian Qionghua scrutinized Zong Hang for a long time, repeatedly exchanging glances with Qu Qiao, before finally asking him: “Do you know how to handle crocodiles?”

Zong Hang said, “The others couldn’t come.”

This was true. The Water Ghosts believed themselves to be under surveillance by ancestral powers, with everything they did or said potentially being detected by entities in the Drifting Underground Palace. So these days they kept a low profile, quiet as mice, not even daring to contact the Mountain Ghosts for fear of revealing any trace of their activities.

And for the Mountain Ghosts to contact the Water Ghosts was also a complicated matter—messages couldn’t be conveyed directly but had to be hinted at through roundabout means.

Only this Zong Hang, who had Water Ghost abilities yet wasn’t a Water Ghost, was not considered one of the “watched.”

As it happened, like Yanluo, he had truly died before and then revived.

As for whether the process was the same as “Yanluo begetting Yanluo,” even he didn’t know—because from his “death” to his reawakening, nearly a month had passed. What exactly happened during that time, he couldn’t say at all, and the person who knew the truth, namely his girlfriend Yi Sa’s sister Yi Xiao, had long since died.

No one else could come, leaving only him available. They had no choice but to use him. Still not reassured, Xian Qionghua asked again: “You know how to handle crocodiles?”

Zong Hang said, “They couldn’t teach me properly. Before coming, I looked through the Water Ghosts’ materials and taught myself a bit.”

My goodness, he was learning on the job! Xian Qionghua was too exasperated to even get angry: “If you’re not up to it, you should leave now. You’re so young—I don’t want to see you lose your life here.”

Zong Hang smiled, and when he smiled, his eyes curved, looking particularly bright.

He said, “Don’t worry, I think I’ve learned quite well.”

Then he asked: “Do you want it dead or alive?”

Xian Qionghua had learned from Meng Jinsong that Jiang Lian’s speculation might not be groundless. She said: “First, I hope you can lure it away so we can see what’s hidden beneath its belly; second, if it has eaten Qianzi, a life for a life—we want it dead. But if it hasn’t…”

Such a huge creature with an unclear origin—killing it would be inauspicious. Xian Qionghua leaned toward filling the tunnel and letting it fend for itself.

Zong Hang understood her implication and nodded, saying, “Alright.”

Shen Gun heard footsteps from outside the cave.

Looking up, he saw Zong Hang enter with a heavy backpack. The pack was so heavy that he carried it with some difficulty, his forehead sweaty, wiping it with his arm.

Seeing someone in the cave, he nodded politely to Shen Gun and walked straight to the water’s edge, put down his backpack, and began taking things out one by one.

Shen Gun found him familiar, then remembered seeing him in the Water Ghosts’ video.

He couldn’t help but approach to see what Zong Hang was taking out.

There was a leather suit, one-piece, of unknown material, very thick and slippery, with fingered gloves attached to the sleeves. It could be completely sealed, with a pointed head and legs that fit into a tail—when worn, it resembled a fish.

There was also a strange object that looked like the character “工” from the front, as if made from an iron bar with iron discs welded to both ends. But a closer look revealed it was a carefully crafted steel mechanism, as evidenced by the visible press buttons.

Seeing Shen Gun’s curiosity, Zong Hang patiently explained that this was a crocodile blocker. Crocodiles have powerful jaws, and the blocker was used to prop open the upper and lower jaws. The mechanism could release medicinal needles to numb the crocodile’s mouth, weakening its bite, thus reducing danger when entering the crocodile’s stomach.

The suit was a crocodile suit, as crocodiles have strong gastric acid that can dissolve even human bones if given enough time, so one must wear the suit when entering. Once inside, one must act quickly, whether cutting open the belly or using a beast-numbing agent—suffocation inside was no joke.

Shen Gun listened in astonishment, stammering: “You… you’re going to enter its stomach?”

Zong Hang said, “Yes, that’s the only way to deal with it.”

After a pause, he added, “Modern crocodiles have gotten smaller. According to Water Ghost records, only in ancient times were there giant crocodiles like this one.”

Shen Gun’s scalp tingled: “Aren’t you afraid?”

Zong Hang looked puzzled: “Afraid of what?”

He slipped into the crocodile suit: “Miss Meng and the others are helping the Water Ghosts, which means they’re saving Sasa. If I help Miss Meng, I’m also saving Sasa. Why should I be afraid of saving Sasa?”

Only then did Shen Gun remember that Zong Hang’s girlfriend, Yi Sa… was said to have already fallen ill.

And before her, all the Water Ghosts who had fallen ill had died.