One day later, Xining Airport.

At midnight, the airport was relatively quiet. Meng Jinsong pushed the luggage cart out of the arrival gate first, immediately spotting He Shengzhi from the mountain household holding a large sign to greet them.

He was also dramatically holding two large bouquets.

Meng Jinsong walked quickly over: “Throw away the flowers. Don’t you know why we’re here? Why are you putting on this show?”

He Shengzhi hadn’t recognized Meng Jinsong at first. Hearing this, he finally realized who it was, hurriedly ran to the nearest trash bin, tossed the bouquets against its edge, and trotted back, eager to report the situation.

“The cars are ready. The drivers and escorts are all carefully selected from the mountain household. Would you… Like to go to the hotel to rest first and set off at daybreak?”

Meng Jinsong shook his head: “We’ll leave directly.”

Before He Shengzhi could say more, three more people emerged.

Meng Qianzi is in a wheelchair, Xin Ci pushing the wheelchair, and Xian Qionghua accompanying them.

The First Aunt hadn’t come; it seemed the rumors circulating in the mountain household about First Aunt’s poor health were true.

Fifth Aunt hadn’t come either. Fifth Aunt had never been to the highlands in her life, confirming the rumor that she suffered from severe altitude sickness.

A convoy of three cars sped away from the airport road. He Shengzhi handed electronic tablets to Meng Qianzi, Xian Qionghua, and Meng Jinsong. He hesitated whether to give one to Xin Ci, but Xin Ci waved him off, indicating he didn’t need one.

For matters beyond his capabilities, he never had any curiosity. With Qianzi having difficulty walking, he had come along solely to take care of her and push the wheelchair.

Meng Qianzi accepted the tablet and first opened the map. Two glowing red dots appeared on it: one marking where the Mountain Ghosts had encountered trouble during their search, and one where Jiang Lian and the others had disappeared. The two locations were dozens of kilometers apart.

The red color was somewhat jarring, making her chest tighten.

He Shengzhi carefully introduced the situation: “We currently have two cars, two small teams, totaling fifteen people, already searching in the area where Mr. Shen and the others disappeared.”

Meng Qianzi remained silent. She already knew all this: five hours after Meng Jinsong had determined the coordinates of the last phone call, search personnel had already arrived at the scene.

There were no bodies or people at the scene, but several bloodstains were found.

Two cars had been left behind—one with a burst tire and broken windows, the other overturned. The preliminary suspicion was that they had been trying to avoid something, driving in a curved path when excessive lateral acceleration caused the overturn.

Meng Qianzi asked: “The place where Shen Gun disappeared… was there truly nothing unusual about that area?”

He Shengzhi knew what she wanted to ask and quickly shook his head: “No, that area is on the way to Kunlun Mountain. We’ve all been there. It’s truly desolate, with only a few tattered tents left. Fourth Aunt also examined it carefully back then, suspecting there might be something underground, and even had people use detectors to check.”

So, problems occurred only when Jiang Lian and Shen Gun went there?

Could it be because of Shen Gun?

Back at the Phoenix Eye, everything was fine for everyone else, but when he appeared, the small giant crocodile below went mad and smashed through the coffin’s bottom.

Meng Qianzi looked around, feeling there was no one to discuss this with, so she swallowed her words. After thinking for a moment, she clicked on Tao Tian’s profile to look at it.

The front-facing ID photo that first appeared held her gaze for two or three seconds. Tao Tian was quite beautiful, both sweet and serene.

She continued reading the personal information, but after just a few lines, her brows furrowed: “Internal skill assessment: only three points for combat. Why was she assigned as an escort?”

He Shengzhi was momentarily at a loss for words. Xian Qionghua smoothed things over: “She was just a receptionist, only responsible for bringing people from Xining to Kunlun. Why would she need such capabilities? Fourth Sister probably thought good steel should be used for the blade—those with real ability were all sent to search the mountains. For reception, she just assigned someone available. After all, who could have anticipated trouble on the road?”

That was reasonable. Meng Qianzi didn’t pursue this further. She closed the profile page and, after a pause, said: “I just feel that if someone more capable had been with them, Jiang Lian… would at least have had some help.”

Two cars, six people missing. Of the six, only Jiang Lian and Wei Biao had any fighting strength. But Wei Biao, as she knew, would have been focused solely on Kuang Meiying, contributing little to the overall situation. The burden of effort would have fallen on Jiang Lian.

Meng Qianzi remained silent until He Shengzhi reminded her: “Miss Meng, there’s more, images from the mountain search.”

The images from the mountain search were quite bloody. Despite being mentally prepared, when she opened them, Meng Qianzi’s pupils contracted. Beside her, Xian Qionghua felt a surge of anger rushing to her head, making her hands holding the tablet tremble. She blurted out: “Beforehand, weren’t there any signs of danger?”

Hindsight is twenty-twenty. He Shengzhi was frank: “Seventh Aunt, that was in the mountains. The mountains are the Mountain Ghosts’ domain. Everyone who entered the mountains was quite relaxed, especially above the snow line, where no one had lived for years. Even mountaineering teams rarely go there—at most, one might encounter a snow leopard—but snow leopards don’t harm Mountain Ghosts.”

Meng Qianzi asked: “So now, is there any explanation? Or do you have any conjectures?”

He Shengzhi hesitated to speak.

Meng Qianzi smiled: “It’s alright, just say what’s on your mind.”

He Shengzhi reluctantly began: “Everyone is saying that being able to cut a person in half with one strike, being able to break a person’s neck with one’s bare hands—that strength is too great. It doesn’t seem human, it’s more like… a Yeti.”

A Yeti?

Also known as the Abominable Snowman or Bigfoot, Yetis feature in many legends in high-altitude mountain regions. They’re said to be nearly three meters tall, with grayish-yellow fur and a foul odor throughout their bodies.

Regarding Yetis, the scientific community circulates two theories. One holds that Yetis are brown bears; the other maintains that Yetis are gigantopithecus, close relatives of humans, possessing cognition and capable of simple thought, though lacking language abilities.

Meng Qianzi looked toward Meng Jinsong: “Do our Mountain Return Groups in the northwest and southwest regions, near the snow-capped ridges, have any records of Yeti sightings during mountain patrols and explorations?”

Meng Jinsong nodded: “There are some, but they’re generally from a great distance—suddenly hearing noises or glimpsing a silhouette, never a direct encounter. The sightings are unclear and uncertain. Anything with a humanoid or large shape gets classified as a Yeti. There are probably two or three records, but they’re not of much reference value.”

Meng Qianzi brought up the map again, pointing to where the mountain search incident had occurred: “This mountain peak and its surroundings could be problematic. Even if Yetis do live there and were startled, they would either be frightened away by the mountain household or would chase the mountain household away… Strangling and cutting people to death seems more like murder. Our people may have truly discovered something there. We should inform Fourth Mother, directing manpower there, just in case.”

…

With no new developments, no amount of anxiety would help. Meng Qianzi reclined the car seat and fell into a deep sleep, fully clothed.

She had a strange dream. She dreamed that Jiang Lian was talking with her, just like that time in the underwater cave, always smiling, occasionally leaning down to kiss her. Later, somehow, they decided to fly a kite, and he said it was his specialty.

So they flew a kite. She giggled as she turned the reel, watching the kite soar higher and higher. But suddenly, she felt a loneliness around her. Looking around, everything was a vast expanse of white. Jiang Lian had disappeared at some point.

She was alarmed, looking left and right, only to discover that Jiang Lian was on the kite she had sent high into the sky, struggling to wave at her, seemingly asking her to bring him down quickly.

She frantically tried to reel in the line, but the more panicked she became, the more tangled it got. A gust of wind blew, snapping the line. Jiang Lian was swept away by the strong wind, disappearing in an instant.

…

When she awoke, it was already bright daylight. Golden sunlight filtered through the car window, warming one side of her face. In the reflection on the glass, a tear hung at the corner of her eye. She moved her hand very gently, quietly wiping it away.

The car was very quiet. Most people were dozing off, except for the driver. She heard Xian Qionghua on the phone, speaking very softly, seemingly talking about her.

“Sister Zi is doing fine. I see her talking and acting normally, not affected by what happened to Jiang Lian.”

“Yes, after all, they just got together, maybe the feelings aren’t that deep yet. Perhaps we overthought it…”

Meng Qianzi closed her eyes.

Before Jiang Lian’s incident, his last call had been to her.

What did he want to say? She didn’t know.

But it didn’t matter. Next time she saw him, she would ask. They would meet again. She clutched the clothes at her chest, kneading between her whitened knuckles from the pressure, and forcefully emphasized to herself once more:

They would meet again.

Jiang Lian awoke in pain in the middle of the night.

When he opened his eyes, he first saw the sky—a black canopy with very bright stars. Silver light was captured in his eyes.

Then he felt his body being dragged along, the sensation like dragging a dead dog.

He looked to his side.

As it turned out, his feeling was correct—he was being dragged. There was a rope circling his armpits, conveniently tied for dragging.

He wasn’t the only one being dragged; there were two others. He recognized one as the driver who had died first. The other was unfamiliar, judging by the clothing…

He guessed it might be the person who had been run over by the car.

Three people, three ropes, all tied together and held in one person’s hand—all he knew was that this person was large in stature. Dragging three at once meant they had to be very strong. All he could see was a silent back and the sound of labored breathing.

The reason he woke up in pain was that the arrow in his shoulder hadn’t been removed. It kept grinding against the ground as he was dragged, constantly pulling at his flesh, which had awakened him.

Where was Shen Gun? Where was Meiying?

There was no time to worry about them now; he had to worry about himself first.

Why hadn’t this person killed him?

Jiang Lian recalled the desperate struggle before he lost consciousness. The attacker had been very strong, and he had been injured, with nearly half his body numb. In the end, he had been choked, his mouth open, his tongue gradually protruding, until he passed out.

A thought occurred to him.

Could it be that this person thought he was dead and was therefore treating him as a corpse, tying him up with the other dead bodies and… dragging them all together? If so, where were these “corpses” being taken?

Jiang Lian decided to play dead, keeping still and using this time to recover his strength, although the constant pulling at his wound made this “recovery” somewhat wishful thinking.

After an unknown amount of time, the person stopped behind a pile of stones.

Such stone walls made of cow dung and rocks were common on the plateau, probably used by Tibetan nomads to corral their cattle and sheep. Since they passed through at fixed times each year, they often left behind some commonly used tools.

By the moonlight, Jiang Lian saw the person pick up an old shovel and begin digging a hole at the base of the wall. It seemed there had already been a hole there, and now it was merely being enlarged.

The person had a bow strapped to their back, along with a quiver of arrows. Their face wasn’t visible, seemingly wrapped in layers of cloth, with only a pair of eyes exposed, gleaming with an eerie, sinister light.

This must be a grave being dug for them. How considerate—they were responsible for both killing and burying. Jiang Lian couldn’t summon any strength in his body, but optimistically thought he might be able to take a shortcut: hold his breath, let himself be buried, and then dig himself out once the person above was gone.

Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned.

The person first threw the unidentified body into the pit, then dragged the driver’s body forward. They grabbed the arrow shaft, yanked it out forcefully, placed it aside, then picked up a stone and delivered a final blow to the back of the driver’s head.

That dull sound startled Jiang Lian so much that his entire body stiffened, and even his breathing stopped momentarily.

This person was quite frugal, unwilling to let their arrows be buried; they wanted to recover them before burial. They were also extremely cautious, though after being dragged for so long and having an arrow removed, there was no way anyone could still be alive, yet they still delivered a crushing blow.

With this type of arrow—arrowhead at the front, fletching at the back—pulling it out from either end would be like being flayed alive. Jiang Lian knew he would inevitably cry out in pain. If that was the case, why not use the pain to his advantage and make a move…

He glanced at the position of the removed arrow, his seemingly limp hand slowly inching toward it. Unfortunately, it was more than an inch out of reach. Just then, the person reached out and grabbed Jiang Lian by the collar, dragging him closer. Jiang Lian used this opportunity to quickly grasp the arrow.

At the same time, the person also grasped the arrow embedded in his left shoulder.

Jiang Lian silently counted “one, two, three” in his mind. Just as the arrow was pulled from his flesh, using the excruciating pain that made even his scalp feel cold, he let out a fierce roar, summoning all his strength to sit up. His right hand thrust the arrow upward at an angle. With a tearing sound, the arrow pierced through the person’s neck, its tip emerging through the skin, protruding at an angle near their ear.

The person stared at Jiang Lian, making discontinuous sounds from their throat, eyes bulging, revealing terror and disbelief. In their hand, they still clutched the arrow just pulled from Jiang Lian’s body.

Since being wounded by the arrow, with the shaft still in place, both the entry and exit wounds had been sealed. Though blood had seeped out, most had been absorbed by his clothes, not flowing externally. Only now did warm blood gush out, the heat around the wound creating an almost perversely stimulating sensation.

Jiang Lian’s lips twisted into a difficult smile, saying to the person, “Aren’t you going to fall?”

As he spoke, he reached out and pushed the person’s shoulder with a finger. Already in a precarious balance before death, how could they withstand this external force? They collapsed limply.

With their fall, Jiang Lian could no longer support himself either, falling backward. He gasped for breath, dizzy but desperately clenching his teeth, inhaling and exhaling. Then he reached out a hand, untied the scarf from the driver’s neck, brought it to his mouth, and tore it with his teeth.

He stuffed half of it into his mouth, biting down hard, while holding the other half in his hand, gradually pushing it into the shoulder wound. With each bit he stuffed in, his body convulsed. After each spasm, he pushed in a bit more. His eyes were wide open, the corners feeling as if they would split in pain. In his mind, he tried to focus on pleasant thoughts, like embracing and kissing Meng Qianzi, their passionate moments, and more.

By the time he finished, his hand was covered in blood, and the cloth in his mouth was nearly chewed through.

He lay there for a while longer before forcing himself to sit up. He reached out to tear away the cloth covering the person’s face. After tearing it to shreds, he breathed heavily and reached into his jacket to find the flashlight.

Originally, he had gathered a bunch of flashlights in his jacket to use as diversions, but they had all fallen out at some point. Fortunately, one remained, having been tucked into his waistband.

He pulled out the flashlight, turned it on, and shined it on the person’s face.

It was a face with a deformed skull. In his life, Jiang Lian had never seen anyone uglier: one side of the jaw was normal, but the other was crooked and protruding, as if pulling the face into a sharp angle; one cheekbone slanted upward, while the other drooped downward. The two sides of the cheekbones, which should have been parallel, were forcibly distorted into a diagonal line.

Jiang Lian was reminded of the Water Ghost’s video.

Just then, from some direction, he heard what seemed to be a woman’s scream. He didn’t know if it was Meiying or Tao Tian, but his instinct told him it was coming toward him.

Jiang Lian’s body jolted, quickly returning to reality. He turned off the flashlight, kicked the driver’s body and the other corpse into the pit, then slid in himself. He quickly gathered handfuls of the excavated soil, covering himself and the other bodies.

He opened his eyes in the soft soil, staring motionlessly outward. Soon, a woman’s figure appeared in his field of vision.

She was stumbling, gasping for breath, making sounds close to whimpering, running toward the stone wall.

By the moonlight, Jiang Lian could see clearly: it was Tao Tian.

He let out a long breath, his body half rising, just about to call out to her, when his gaze fell upon something that made his heart sink.

Behind Tao Tian, in the distance, was another person. Judging by their robust figure and steady posture, it was not one of their companions.

Jiang Lian’s hand, deeply buried in the soil, curled slightly, suddenly brushing against something. It was the bow that had been strapped to the back of the person who had just died by his hand.