At dusk, fog began to rise in the mountains.

Since they were already walking at a relatively high elevation, looking down, much of the mist was rising from the valleys, like countless giant furnaces burning below, sending up great plumes of white smoke—except that this smoke was ice-cold.

Fog also began to drift around the peaks. Mountain dwellers familiar with the Tibetan region said these weren’t fog but accumulated snow lifted by strong winds, forming fluttering banners in the high sky. People below couldn’t see clearly and often mistook it for mist swirling around the mountain tops.

In any case, the scene was extraordinarily beautiful. This area had remained untouched by humans for years. The sunset’s rosy glow carried an orange tint that permeated the fog blanketing the mountains, making everything appear both bewitching and magnificent.

Jing Rusi selected a relatively flat lowland and hurried to set up camp during the last moments before the sun disappeared.

The brain-damaged mountain dweller, named Shi Xiaohai, had been walking energetically the whole way. When suddenly told to stop, he paced around anxiously, pointing forward and repeating with slurred speech: “Forward, keep going forward…”

He Shengzhi had been serving as Shi Xiaohai’s caretaker throughout the journey and patiently tried to persuade him: “Rest first. After sleeping and regaining strength, we can continue walking.”

Shi Xiaohai seemed unable to understand. Even after dinner, when Jiang Lian passed by him, he still saw Shi gripping his empty folding soup bowl, repeatedly muttering “forward” and “keep going forward.”

…

Despite having Meng Qianzi’s “Mountain Wind Guide” as a foundation for security, the Mountain Ghosts still arranged four shifts for night patrol. Jiang Lian’s wound hadn’t fully healed, so he didn’t need to take a shift. Grateful for this consideration, he shared a tent with Shen Gun and retired early.

After closing his eyes for a short while, he suddenly remembered something and took out the vial of perfume, secretly applying another stroke to his neck.

Others might not know, but she would certainly notice. This was his way of saying goodnight to her, through a secret they shared.

Jiang Lian fell asleep with great contentment, fully expecting to have a pleasant dream.

In the middle of the night, he did indeed have a dream, though whether it was “pleasant” was difficult to determine.

He dreamed of Duan Wenxi.

He dreamed they were still at Phoenix Eye, with the third coffin just opened, its skeletal remains moved to both ends.

A panel at the bottom of the coffin was lifted, and two long rope ladders were quietly lowered through the opening.

Duan Wenxi and Yanluo each descended on one ladder into the Phoenix Eye. Duan Wenxi, being in her seventies, lacked strength, while Yanluo descended quickly, reaching the bottom in a few swift movements.

In the chamber beneath the coffin, there was only shallow water. On a circular platform in the center stood a magnificent phoenix feather surrounded by a seven-colored halo.

Yanluo’s eyes flashed with delight. He had already reached out to take it, but suddenly withdrew his hand. His expression changed to one of extreme respect, almost fawning, as he turned to Duan Wenxi: “Madam Duan, after you.”

Duan Wenxi gazed at the phoenix feather in admiration and reached out to pick it up.

In the dream, Jiang Lian was clearly an observer, but for some reason, seeing this scene made him suddenly anxious. He shouted: “Don’t touch it! Don’t touch it!”

Unfortunately, he was transparent and voiceless. Duan Wenxi couldn’t see or hear him. She merely held her breath, looking at the phoenix feather with near reverence, as the feather seemed to have a magnetic pull, slowly adhering to her hand…

When Jiang Lian woke up, he was still murmuring the words “don’t touch it.”

How strange—why would he have such an irrelevant dream? And why did he want to stop old lady Duan from taking that phoenix feather? Did that feather, standing alone on the circular platform, have some special significance?

He couldn’t fall back asleep for a while. Checking the time, it was just past two in the morning. Shen Gun was sound asleep, his breathing alternating between heavy and light.

The tent was pitch black, but outside was relatively brighter—not from artificial light, as the camp remained dark to avoid becoming a target—but from the natural light of the sky, snow, moon, and all other natural sources of illumination.

Jiang Lian felt restless and decided to put on his clothes and go outside.

The fog outside had thickened. With no lights, people were mere shadowy figures, difficult to see clearly. After walking just a few steps, a voice suddenly asked from ahead: “Who’s there?”

Jiang Lian was startled. He hadn’t noticed anyone standing there and instinctively replied: “Just going to relieve myself.”

After this exchange, both recognized each other.

It was Meng Jinsong.

Since being punished by Meng Qianzi and sent on “extended leave,” Meng Jinsong had become much more subdued, even speaking less. Although there were valid reasons for the punishment, it was somewhat related to Jiang Lian, so he had avoided face-to-face interactions to prevent awkwardness.

Unexpectedly, they had now bumped into each other. Fortunately, it was the middle of the night, with thick fog, making it impossible to see facial expressions clearly, thus reducing the embarrassment. Jiang Lian quickened his pace, intending to pass by Meng Jinsong’s side, but accidentally stepped on a stone and stumbled, nearly falling.

Meng Jinsong laughed and said: “We all use night-vision, so we’re used to it. Your eyes might not adapt well. Use a flashlight—the mountain isn’t easy to navigate.”

As he spoke, he pulled out a flashlight and tossed it over.

Jiang Lian caught it: “I thought we weren’t using lights?”

“The camp stays dark, but how strong is the light from this flashlight? Using it briefly doesn’t matter.”

Jiang Lian thanked him and walked to a distant spot behind the camp. Despite the absence of people around, he still chose a relatively secluded large rock. After finishing, he was walking back with the flashlight when he inadvertently raised his hand, sweeping the beam across a face.

At first, Jiang Lian didn’t think much of it, assuming he’d encountered another mountain dweller out for a midnight bathroom break. But upon closer inspection, he felt a thunderous boom in his mind. He froze in place, his entire body turning cold.

This person was undoubtedly one of “them”—the same species as the mantis-person.

Was it the “fifth one” that had never appeared? According to Qianzi, in the Water Ghost camp disappearance, twenty-seven people went missing. The “transformation” had a certain success rate. In 1996, out of over a hundred people, twenty-some temporarily survived—about one in five. Who knew if the success rate had improved over the years?

But at a minimum, there wouldn’t be fewer than five.

This person was not tall, with a strangely shaped face resembling a bull. One side of the forehead had a protrusion, the other side had one too, but much smaller, creating an asymmetrical appearance. Around the neck was what looked like a flesh-colored scarf, but upon closer inspection, it was not—it was another pair of deformed arms, ending in clawed digits.

More terrifying was that this person’s face was at the edge of the light, staring fixedly at him.

Jiang Lian’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. He had merely come out to relieve himself, with one shoulder too injured to exert force. His only “weapon” was the lightweight flashlight in his hand.

Perhaps he should throw the flashlight at the creature and run? Although the plateau’s oxygen deficiency made intense exercise difficult, survival took precedence. While running, he could shout for help, and the night patrol would come to his aid…

Having made up his mind, he met the person’s gaze, slowly shifting his feet outward. Just as he was about to fling the flashlight with all his might, the person suddenly turned away, then spun around and quickly walked into the darkness.

Jiang Lian was caught off guard, feeling helpless. He wasn’t naive enough to think the person wanted to show him something interesting—the person’s expression and movements suggested they had been called away by someone.

His palms sweaty, Jiang Lian took several deep breaths to steady himself. He had no intention of following, knowing that with his current fighting capacity, following would be suicidal. He retreated two steps and hesitantly shone the flashlight in that direction, wanting to see which way the person had gone so he could inform Meng Jinsong and the others upon his return.

After a few random sweeps with the light, another utterly unexpected event occurred.

He saw Shen Gun!

Whether he had also come out to urinate at night was unclear, but Shen Gun’s body was hidden behind a large rock, with only his head visible. When relieving oneself outdoors without fixed facilities, people generally seek “cover.”

However, Shen Gun wasn’t looking at Jiang Lian but was frowning and peering to one side, as if something there had caught his attention.

This was bad—that creature was still nearby. Jiang Lian felt a chill down his spine and was about to call out a warning…

As if his worst fears were materializing, he saw two octopus-tentacle-like slender arms wrap around Shen Gun’s neck from behind, instantly dragging him behind the rock.

Jiang Lian felt all his blood rushing to his head. At a moment like this, saving someone was the priority, regardless of long-term planning. He shouted “Shen Gun!” and then blew several sharp whistles toward the camp before rushing toward that spot.

The disadvantages of nighttime became painfully evident. Rocks were everywhere, and once the light moved away and then back, everything looked the same. Jiang Lian repeatedly checked until he confirmed the location, then rushed over only to silently curse his luck: behind the large rock was a narrow fissure leading to a valley. This meant that once out of the fissure, there would be stones and peaks everywhere, with seven or eight naturally formed crevice paths leading upward or sideways—they could have gone in any direction.

Both Shen Gun and the monster had vanished without a trace.

At this moment, Meng Jinsong arrived with several others, flashlights blazing. Lights were also turning on throughout the camp, though the principle was to avoid using lights; the current emergency warranted an exception.

Meng Jinsong’s hand was already on his gun: “What happened?”

Jiang Lian, breathing heavily, replied: “There’s one of those creatures. It took Shen Gun.”

Meng Jinsong’s mind exploded, his first thought being his negligence: it was his shift, and not only had he failed to detect the situation, but someone had also been taken!

His heart raced as he urgently shone his flashlight in the direction Jiang Lian indicated: damn, with so many branching paths, how could they possibly pursue? If they split up to search, they risked being picked off one by one…

At this moment, a mountain dweller nearby commented: “During our watch, besides you, we didn’t see anyone else go out to relieve themselves.”

Now was not the time to debate negligence. Jiang Lian also guessed that pursuit would be difficult: “Can we find Miss Meng? She should be able to help locate them.”

This reminded Meng Jinsong: “Wait, something’s not right. If that creature came, wouldn’t Qianzi have sensed it?”

Meng Qianzi was indeed sleeping, but the “Mountain Wind Guide” essentially amplified certain bodily sensations, keeping the body in a constant state of alert. If “that creature” had approached, disrupting the camp’s scent pattern, Meng Qianzi should have detected it early and awakened in time.

Jiang Lian was so anxious that sweat broke out on his back. Time was ticking away, each second a blade at his throat. Just as he was about to speak, Meng Jinsong’s walkie-talkie crackled, and Jing Rusi’s slightly sleepy voice came through: “What’s happening?”

Meng Jinsong answered briefly: “Jiang Lian went out to relieve himself and saw one of those creatures. The Divine Gentleman has been captured.”

Jing Rusi let out a short “Ah,” followed by a burst of static. Then Meng Qianzi’s voice came through: “Everyone, come back. All of you, come back.”

Jiang Lian was stunned: “No, Qianzi, Shen Gun is—”

Meng Qianzi sighed: “Shen Gun is here.”

Before Jiang Lian could process this, he heard Shen Gun’s confused voice over the walkie-talkie: “What’s going on? Why are you all in my tent? I was… sleeping.”

Jiang Lian had an extremely absurd feeling.

Was he dreaming?

He followed the others back to the camp and saw from a distance that the tent he shared with Shen Gun had its flap lifted, with a circle of people outside. Shen Gun hadn’t even emerged from his sleeping bag, wearing only a thick outer jacket, eyes bleary, looking completely bewildered.

Meng Qianzi was also there, sitting in a lightweight folding wheelchair—her original wheelchair was too heavy to carry, so she had brought a lighter, simpler version for this trip, suitable only for moving around the campsite.

Seeing it was a false alarm, Jing Rusi waved away the onlookers: “Everyone, go back to sleep. Sleep seventy percent alert, thirty percent awake—don’t fall into a deep sleep.”

With the alert canceled, Meng Jinsong felt relieved: “I was saying, we’ve been guarding the camp the whole time. We didn’t see anyone come in, nor did we see Shen Gun go out.”

Jiang Lian’s mind was in chaos: “You… you came back?”

Could it be that Shen Gun had gone out but returned during the confusion, before everyone discovered his absence?

Shen Gun was baffled: “Where did I go? I’ve been sleeping the whole time.”

Meng Qianzi said, “He hasn’t been out. When we entered, he wasn’t even awake yet. Besides, He Shengzhi immediately checked the soles and insides of his shoes.”

In the middle of the night, with heavy fog, the soil outside was damp. But Shen Gun’s shoe soles were dry, with no wet mud or grass fragments. The insides of his shoes were cold—if they had recently been worn for running, they would have retained some heat.

So, had Jiang Lian seen someone who looked exactly like Shen Gun?

Jiang Lian didn’t know what to say: “Then… that creature and that person who looked like Shen Gun appeared near the camp. Qianzi, can you sense if they were here? You should be able to sense their presence.”

Meng Qianzi hesitated: “That’s just it—there’s nothing. Jiang Lian, no unusual smells, no heat from any living creature approaching.”

Jiang Lian said: “Could it be that they have no smell and no heat…”

He didn’t continue. He felt that the more he spoke, the more confused things became. The facts were before his eyes—he must have made an error in some part of his perception or understanding. He needed to sort it out, to trace back…

Seeing his expression, Jing Rusi knew he was also confused. In the middle of the night, with a false alarm, drowsiness returned, and she felt extremely tired: “Maybe you didn’t see wrong. Think carefully if there was something critical. Qianzi, I’m here. You should go back now. You need to rest well.”

Meng Qianzi made an excuse: “I’ll go back later. I just woke up and won’t be able to fall asleep right away. I’m wide awake.”

These days, she rarely has opportunities to be with Jiang Lian. Even when they met, they were always surrounded by others. Now that she had a chance, being able to talk a bit more was good.

How could Jing Rusi not see through her little thoughts? Ever since hearing that Meng Qianzi had risked crippling her leg to search for Jiang Lian’s body in the mountains, Jing Rusi knew that her minor actions would have no effect.

She dared not make any larger moves either. She had done so once in the past and felt guilty about it.

She decided to go with the flow: “Then I’ll head back first. You all sort this out and see if there are any discoveries.”

She instructed Meng Jinsong: “Take care of Qianzi if she needs anything.”

The tent was too narrow for Meng Qianzi’s wheelchair, but staying outside was too cold. Meng Jinsong returned to his tent to get her a wool blanket.

Upon returning, he found his effort unnecessary: Jiang Lian had already unzipped his sleeping bag and carefully wrapped it around her, making her look plump and bundled up, with her head also covered, leaving only her face exposed.

Then, Jiang Lian recounted what had happened.

Shen Gun listened with the most excitement: “Really looks like me? The same? Does he also wear my…”

As he spoke, he grabbed his glasses from beside him: “Stylish glasses?”

These glasses were newly fitted, with metal frames that didn’t match Shen Gun’s demeanor—wearing them made him look like a low-budget version of a fallen intellectual. But Shen Gun had fallen in love with them at first sight—not surprising, as he had never been one for aesthetics.

Jiang Lian shook his head: “It all happened so quickly. The flashlight swept across, illuminating a face, and I assumed it was you. Thinking back now, the details were indeed different.”

The person wasn’t wearing glasses. Jiang Lian had been too anxious. If he’d had time to think carefully, he would have noticed many questionable points: how could Shen Gun go out to relieve himself in the middle of the night without making a sound, not even using a flashlight?

Shen Gun murmured: “Looks the same… Could it be my twin brother? After all, I was abandoned at the entrance of a small village. I can’t say for sure if I was an only child… But why would he be with that creature?”

This was troubling. Meng Qianzi frowned: “This whole thing doesn’t make sense. Haven’t either of you had experience using flashlights at night?”

She had lived with her second mother, Tang Yuru, for a period. Tang Yuru was of the frugal, rural-upbringing type and didn’t provide her with many comforts. Meng Qianzi had considerable experience using flashlights to walk at night or go to the bathroom.

“In pitch darkness, when you’re the only one with a flashlight, you become the target, the core, the only bright spot. People naturally look at you, and those with ill intentions will avoid your light—that creature could easily have hidden, but it didn’t. It lets your light catch it directly. And that… fake Shen Gun, he was already illuminated by your light!”

Normally, when people are caught in a beam of light in darkness, they instinctively close their eyes, shield themselves, or look toward the light source. How could anyone remain so calm and look elsewhere?

Jiang Lian’s heart sank: “Are you suggesting I was hallucinating?”

Meng Qianzi was noncommittal: “Jinsong and the others were on night watch. Though they didn’t use lights, they’ve used night-vision for so long that they would notice if someone appeared nearby. You said the creature didn’t try to hide itself at all, just appeared boldly in the open. How could several pairs of eyes all miss seeing it? More importantly, I truly didn’t smell any unusual odors.”

So was the problem with him? Jiang Lian’s scalp tingled. Just then, Shen Gun blurted out: “Maybe it’s not that Little Lian Lian has a problem. Don’t you Mountain Ghosts have mountain… something about buildings?”

Meng Qianzi was completely lost, but Meng Jinsong, who had been silent until now, caught on: “You mean mountain mirage?”

Holy crap, mountain mirage?

Meng Qianzi felt a jolt. Everyone here, except Shen Gun, was very familiar with mountain mirages, but precisely because of this familiarity, they had immediately dismissed the possibility—after all, the primary condition for a mountain mirage was heavy rain.

Shen Gun’s words had enlightened her. Apart from the “heavy rain” condition, everything else aligned perfectly with a mountain mirage.

Meng Qianzi and Jiang Lian exchanged glances, both feeling their lips dry: this was a snow mountain. Heavy rain couldn’t occur above the snow line.

There was no rain in the snow mountains, but could there be something that served the same function as rain?

Jiang Lian recalled the… heavy fog that had blanketed the mountains before dusk.

Meng Qianzi thought of it too. She urgently said to Meng Jinsong, “Quick, bring Shi Xiaohai here.”

Shi Xiaohai was brought over by He Shengzhi, half-asleep, looking both confused and frightened, gripping He Shengzhi’s arm tightly.

Meng Qianzi’s heart was racing, but she kept her tone as gentle as possible: “Let me ask you, did you see the dragon at night or during the day?”

Shi Xiaohai thought for a moment, then said: “Night, cold, sleeping on the ground. When I opened my eyes, it was pitch dark, head hurting…”

As he spoke, he touched the back of his head, his face contorted with pain: “So I… used the flashlight.”

This was another key point—he had used a flashlight.

Mountain mirages could only be seen with light. Shi Xiaohai had used a flashlight, Jiang Lian had used a flashlight, but Meng Jinsong and the others had used night-vision.

“Then, the dragon was flying in the sky,” as he said this, Shi Xiaohai became excited again, “so long, so big, the mist was white, the dragon was black…”

At this point, he sighed, mumbling: “Not here, it’s ahead. I told you to go forward, but none of you would go…”

As for where the dragon had gone, he couldn’t say, only that as he watched, it disappeared.

Meng Qianzi asked He Shengzhi to take Shi Xiaohai away. After steadying herself, she looked at Shen Gun: “We may… be approaching the place in your dream.”

Shen Gun’s mouth half-opened, not yet comprehending: “What dream?”

Meng Qianzi said, “Didn’t you dream of a dragon flying in the sky? With many, many people counting boxes? Then that dragon fell. And many people formed a circle, singing a mournful song.”

Shen Gun suddenly understood.

Jiang Lian continued: “In Mountain Ghost lore, mirage pearls are dragon saliva. If at that time, a dragon truly flew over this area and dropped a drop or two of saliva, it would be normal.”

Shen Gun had missed Jiang Lian and the others’ experience with the mirage pearl in Western Hunan, but afterward, he had heard Jiang Lian describe how lifelike it was, and the impression had been deep.

His heart skipped a beat: “Are you saying we might see the scene of people counting boxes?”

Meng Qianzi thought it unlikely: the best mirage pearls could display both images and sounds, but according to Jiang Lian, there had been no sound. The two people had been behind the rock and quickly disappeared. It seemed that this mirage pearl wasn’t of the highest quality.

This was understandable: after all, in Shen Gun’s dream, that dragon had soon fallen—it was already decrepit with age.

However, Shen Gun was already excited, his thoughts racing to the point of incoherence: “If the scene reappears, wouldn’t we be able to see those Divine Clan people, the boxes, and all sorts of things? Wow, Little Lian Lian, amazing! What you saw wasn’t a real person but an image from ancient times…”

Suddenly, he froze.

Little Lian Lian had said the monster had a bull-like face with asymmetrical protrusions and a pair of weird arms. Why would ancient people look as deformed as the mantis-people?

And who was the one who looked exactly like him?

Most importantly, Shi Xiaohai had made it very clear—they hadn’t reached the place yet; they needed to go further ahead. This meant that this wasn’t the main site but a remote, desolate, perhaps even uninhabited location. So why would those two people appear in such a place, and for what purpose?