Shen Gun’s words made Meng Qianzi’s scalp tingle with alarm, but she quickly collected herself and said: “It won’t happen.”

To support her assertion, she asked the two to remain silent for a moment. She closed her eyes and carefully analyzed the scents around them: at least for now, within a range of two to three li, apart from themselves, there were no large living creatures. She could also sense Tao Tian, whose scent was faint and diffuse, with a steady temperature, less than a li away.

She opened her eyes and shook her head again: “There’s nothing. That fifth person is not nearby.”

Shen Gun was puzzled and instinctively sniffed the air: “You can smell them? Why can’t I smell anything?”

Meng Qianzi gave him a sideways glance: “If everyone could smell it, what would you need me for?”

Jiang Lian was also curious: “If you have this ability, doesn’t that mean…”

Meng Qianzi knew he was getting ahead of himself: “It doesn’t work like that. The ‘Mountain Wind Guide’ actually has major limitations. In cities, for instance, there are too many people and too many mixed scents—sewers, garbage heaps—one overpowering smell can easily mask others. The reason it works well here is because of the low population density, probably less than one person per square kilometer. There are also a few animals and not much vegetation, making human scents and unusual odors relatively easy to identify.”

Shen Gun muttered, “So it’s not even as good as a dog? Police dogs can sniff a criminal’s belongings and track them through a city…”

At this point, he suddenly realized his impropriety and, fearing that Meng Qianzi might hit him, quickly hunched his shoulders. Jiang Lian hadn’t caught on and instinctively defended her: “That’s different. It’s still better than a dog. Dogs can only follow one scent, but Qianzi’s ability can distinguish different ones…”

Meng Qianzi was irritated. Sure enough, whenever she used the Mountain Wind Guide, comparisons with dogs were inevitable.

Fortunately, Jiang Lian also sensed his mistake and quickly changed the subject: “Um… how did Meiying end up joining the fight?”

Jiang Lian’s expectations for Kuang Meiying were quite low—he would have been grateful if she had just avoided fainting from fear.

Shen Gun found his question strange: “What’s so surprising about that? She didn’t want to live anymore.”

It turned out that after Wei Biao was taken away by the mantis-person, Kuang Meiying had cried until her voice was hoarse. She had secretly told Shen Gun that the three of them had grown up together, and now, with Master Gan recently deceased, Jiang Lian dead, and Wei Biao likely facing a grim fate, along with the onset of her terminal illness, there wasn’t much point in living. She said she would seize an opportunity to fight those two monsters to the death, and when she did, Shen Gun should take the chance to escape and not worry about her.

Shen Gun sighed: “Miss Kuang… truly, I wouldn’t have expected such courage from her. Her ambition was grand, but her strength, honestly, wasn’t up to the task.”

Only now did Jiang Lian realize that Kuang Meiying had already begun showing symptoms of her illness. His mind buzzed, but having mentally prepared for this day, he managed to maintain his composure.

After a moment of silence, he smiled: “Why did everyone think I was dead?”

Shen Gun replied: “What else would we think? Given the situation, they shot and killed a driver as soon as they arrived, you were shot and rolled on the ground, and after our car overturned, even Wei Biao, with all his strength, was captured. Put yourself in our shoes—who would think you were still alive?”

He then turned to Meng Qianzi: “Miss Meng, wasn’t there a driver who escaped? What did he tell you?”

He continued angrily: “When Wei Biao told him to stop the car, he shouted that there was no hope, that saving the living was more important. I don’t believe he would have told you that Little Lian Lian was safe.”

Meng Qianzi brushed it off: “Stop shouting. Save your strength. When we leave the mountains, no one will carry you.”

This made sense. Vehicles couldn’t enter the mountains, so they’d have to walk out themselves. The injured might get stretchers, but someone like him, who had only suffered a nosebleed, couldn’t expect such treatment.

Shen Gun fell silent. After a while, he found a more comfortable position, curled up, and dozed off again.

—

Jiang Lian also closed his eyes.

But with so many thoughts swirling in his mind, he couldn’t fall asleep as easily as Shen Gun. After a moment, he heard a faint rustling sound beside him.

He opened his eyes to see Meng Qianzi removing a section of her right pant leg, wiping the blood from her leg with an alcohol swab.

The mountains were still cold—breath and speech turned to mist in the air. Meng Qianzi’s exposed leg was very white, but in the mountain’s pervasive chill, this whiteness carried a desolate quality. Jiang Lian lowered his voice and said: “You used a strong injection on that leg, didn’t you?”

Meng Qianzi hadn’t expected him to still be awake. She made a vague sound of acknowledgment and reattached her pant leg.

Jiang Lian continued: “My godfather told me about fighting in Southeast Asia years ago. He said they used such injections on the battlefield. Some people who had their arms blown off would take a shot and feel no pain, charging forward madly or running back.”

Meng Qianzi turned to look at him: “Aren’t you going to sleep for a while?”

Jiang Lian didn’t answer her question: “Did you also think I was dead?”

Meng Qianzi didn’t want to discuss this topic. He was still here, and that was enough. He was safe, her heart was at peace, and the sky was clear. Those “thoughts” could just dissipate.

She rubbed her hands together: “You really can’t stop moving. Once you stop, you get cold. My legs are getting stiff.”

Jiang Lian opened one arm toward her: “Want to come over here?”

Meng Qianzi gave him a sideways glance: “You’re injured. Don’t even think about it.”

What did she mean by that—was she looking down on him? Jiang Lian gestured with his chin to the shoulder that wasn’t injured: “This side can still support someone.”

Meng Qianzi smiled, hesitated for a moment, then rested her head on his shoulder. Jiang Lian wrapped his arm around her, his chin nuzzling the top of her head, and said: “Give me your hands.”

Meng Qianzi made a sound of agreement and extended both hands to him. Jiang Lian enveloped them with his one free hand, feeling their coldness, and unconsciously tightened his grip.

The sun rose high, and with little cover in the mountains, everything was clear and bright.

Jiang Lian called to her: “Qianzi.”

His tone sounded serious, and Meng Qianzi looked up at him.

Jiang Lian said, “If I had died this time, there would be one less person in the world to take care of you. You should take better care of yourself—why fight with your leg? What if you permanently damage it?”

So that’s what he wanted to discuss. Meng Qianzi snorted: “It’s my choice. If you had died, I would have been willing to sacrifice a leg for you.”

Jiang Lian was momentarily speechless. After a pause, he said: “When people travel to the Yellow Springs, they usually carry the tears and concern of their loved ones—sorrowful yet romantic. But I’d be carrying your leg… How would others see me? Can you consider my feelings?”

Meng Qianzi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She reached out to pinch his mouth, and Jiang Lian didn’t dodge, allowing her to pinch him.

As their eyes met, Meng Qianzi’s heart skipped a beat, and she unconsciously released her hold.

Jiang Lian said softly, “I’m serious, Qianzi. Dead people are like spilled milk—they can never return. When that time truly comes, let it be.”

His words made Meng Qianzi’s chest fill with a surge of bitterness. She buried her face in his embrace and firmly uttered a single word: “No.”

A kite with a broken string might still have threads wound around your finger. If milk truly spilled here, she would mourn here, erect a monument here, even be buried here a hundred years later—what would be wrong with that?

In this world, some people live like tangled threads, cut with a single stroke; others like lotus roots, requiring countless cuts but producing thousands of strings.

She probably had a lotus root constitution, unable to let go. Even if she did let go, she would repeatedly look back.

She refused.

—

Afterward, everything proceeded smoothly. The worrisome “fifth person” never appeared, and the mountain dwellers’ reinforcements arrived as expected.

This valley had probably never welcomed so many people in thousands of years. After the team doctor first bandaged Meng Qianzi’s leg wound, he quickly called for a stretcher to carry her out—the mountain dwellers’ hiking poles were made of carbon steel with threaded connections; two poles connected made the length of a stretcher pole. When threaded through the edge of a long canvas, a simple stretcher was formed.

Meng Qianzi had left instructions for Jiang Lian to also use a stretcher, but he declined. After all, his injury was in his shoulder, not his leg. Since he could walk, he felt embarrassed to have people carry him. Moreover, having grown up accustomed to hardship, even when comfort was offered, he felt uncomfortable accepting it.

With Kuang Meiying’s support, he followed the main group as they departed. When they left, many people remained in the valley—some were placing the two bodies in body bags, while others were taking photographs. Tao Tian explained that this was a major incident, and a complete investigation report would likely be issued later.

Jiang Lian wasn’t concerned about any report; he was only worried about Meng Qianzi’s leg. He carefully recalled the doctor’s expression when bandaging her and sometimes thought the doctor’s face looked very grave, then consoled himself that perhaps the man simply had a naturally serious face.

Walking and stopping intermittently, they finally exited the mountain region by the afternoon.

The lead vehicles had already departed, leaving only four or five waiting to transport people. Jiang Lian lay down in the back seat of an SUV and overheard people outside talking, saying that they were still seven to eight hundred kilometers from the camp near the Kunlun Mountains.

It was indeed a long journey. Jiang Lian closed his eyes and fell asleep.

He slept dreamlessly, like a heavy stone, and when he woke up, it was already noon the next day.

By then, the car had stopped. The rumbling sound of heavy trucks passing by came from not far away. Jiang Lian opened his eyes and at first couldn’t adjust to the dazzling silver-white light at the horizon.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them to see that the car was parked by a roadside—a winding mountain road, surrounded in all directions by undulating ridges. The upper parts of the mountains were covered in snow, giving the impression of a continuous snowy plain when viewed at a glance.

Such roads, though desolate in their surroundings, were not lonely, as various vehicles constantly passed by. Where there are vehicles, there are people, and where there are people, there are needs for food, drink, and necessities. So, at some convenient sections of the road, small “communities” would form naturally, with a few felt-tent hotels, prefabricated restaurants, and small shops.

The stopping place was just such a small community, and it was quite lively. Jiang Lian could hear the noisy voices outside. He was wondering why he was the only one left in the car when he suddenly heard the car door open with a swish. Looking up, he saw Tao Tian enter, bringing with her the sweet, warm aroma of something delicious.

She was both surprised and delighted: “You’re awake! Meiying told us not to disturb you, to let you wake up naturally.”

Jiang Lian looked at her hands, and his stomach growled twice.

In her hands was a split sweet potato, still steaming hot, with slightly charred skin and a tempting golden flesh.

Tao Tian burst into laughter and generously broke off a piece for him.

Jiang Lian propped himself up with one hand to sit, then reached out to take it. He didn’t rush to eat, instead gesturing outside: “Is this… a rest stop?”

Tao Tian said, “This is already the new camp. Can’t you tell? Those shopkeepers and the people coming and going are all mountain dwellers.”

This brings us to the special nature of the Kunlun Mountains.

The Kunlun Mountains, known as the ancestral dragon vein of China, span Xinjiang, Tibet, and Qinghai provinces. Both geographically and strategically significant, certain areas have military garrisons year-round.

If one were truly a tourist, passing through briefly on the road would be fine; two or three people moving about could easily conceal their activities, but a large group staying for an extended period would inevitably attract monitoring and attention from relevant authorities. This was why Jing Rusi had previously arranged for the search parties to be dispersed—more than twenty small teams were sent to various peaks under the guise of tourists, mountaineers, or surveyors. If more than two hundred people gathered in one area, they would be invited for “tea” before they could finish a single meal.

Later, when the mountain dwellers encountered trouble at one peak, that area became a focus, and the camp naturally needed to be relocated nearby for better control. However, the camp couldn’t be conspicuous. After careful consideration, Jing Rusi selected this existing roadside “community.”

There were more than a dozen prefabricated and felt houses serving customers. Seven or eight facing the street were simple shops, repair garages, and restaurants. Another seven or eight on the flat mountain area were large communal dormitories. Between the two rows of buildings was an open space with two simple toilets, one east and one west, one for men and one for women.

The shop owners were mainly from Northeast China and Sichuan. Jing Rusi’s people negotiated with them, paying a high price for a month’s operation. In other words, all the shops remained open as usual, but the shopkeepers, customers, diners, and lodgers were all replaced by mountain dwellers. If real tourists passed by, they might be accommodated if the mood was good, or turned away with claims of being fully booked if not, which wasn’t a lie, as clients filled the mountains on either side.

…

So that was it. Jiang Lian thought this arrangement was quite good, comfortable, and convenient. He hesitated, then asked her: “Is Miss Meng’s leg injury… any better?”

Tao Tian shook her head: “I don’t know either. I heard the team doctor was examining her leg, but yesterday when I saw her, wasn’t she… quite agile?”

Only then did Jiang Lian remember that Tao Tian had traveled in the same car with him and was also a subordinate. Such matters couldn’t be asked of her.

He lowered his head to bite into the sweet potato.

Tao Tian looked at him for a moment, then hesitantly asked: “Are you and our Miss Meng… very close?”

This was a question she had secretly asked Kuang Meiying during the journey.

Kuang Meiying, with her mind as open as a fishing net, was fully preoccupied with Wei Biao’s condition, only complaining that the car was moving too slowly to catch up. She had responded: “Close? I’ve never heard Jiang Lian say they were close.”

This answer provided no comfort to Tao Tian. She clearly remembered that at that moment, Jiang Lian had called her “Qianzi.”

“Are you and our Miss Meng… very close?”

How should he answer this question?

Jiang Lian was momentarily stunned, holding the sweet potato and falling into a daze.

He and Meng Qianzi seemed to have… naturally come together, without asking anyone’s permission or announcing it to anyone. Even someone like Shen Gun didn’t know yet.

Within the mountain-dwelling community, Meng Qianzi was probably a star-like figure, with every movement subject to gossip. Before she had “officially announced” anything, it would be better for him not to say too much.

But he couldn’t say they weren’t close either—he couldn’t bring himself to be so dishonest.

He made a sound of acknowledgment and said, “We’re quite close.”

As he said this, he didn’t even notice that the corners of his lips had unconsciously curved upward.

Tao Tian looked at him for a while, feeling somewhat empty yet strangely envious. She lowered her eyes, picking at the leather cover of the car seat, then turned her head to look at the small gap in the window beside her—the northwest sand and wind were truly strong; the gap was filled with fine dust.

She murmured: “That’s nice.”

Jiang Lian hadn’t heard clearly: “What’s nice?”

Tao Tian was startled, then smiled. She pointed to the sweet potato in Jiang Lian’s hand: “I meant that the sweet potato is delicious.”