Shen Gun watched as Zong Hang entered the water.

About half of the mountain dwellers had already entered the cave. Xian Qionghua, Qu Qiao, and the others had arrived as well, but they weren’t chaotically crowding the shore. They maintained a formation, arranged in staggered tiers. The first line all carried tranquilizer guns—some prone along the water’s edge, taking aim, others climbing to higher positions for better vantage points. The rest carried real guns, flame throwers, or were attempting to set up nets near the shore.

Seeing this tight encirclement, Shen Gun couldn’t help but admire them: the Mountain Ghosts were indeed methodical and strategic in their approach. How to put it? While small boats might turn quickly, large vessels certainly demonstrated the power of numbers.

He noticed Lu Sanming guarding a pile of equipment, which he guessed were detection devices, and went over to look.

On the screen, two bright spots were visible—one nestled at the bottom of the lake, the other quickly approaching it.

Shen Gun complained about the image quality: “Can we only see bright spots? Can’t we see the shape of a person?”

Lu Sanming enlightened him: “Master Shen, be satisfied with what we have. Infrared light attenuates quickly in water, making thermal imaging difficult for underwater tracking. What we’re using combines with life detection technology—it’s very advanced.”

Fair enough. Shen Gun realized he’d become too demanding. In the past, he’d managed with bare hands and never complained. Now with such sophisticated equipment at his disposal, he was still finding fault.

He held his breath and watched closely.

The distance between the two bright spots grew progressively smaller until they finally merged. It was impossible to tell whether they were fighting or facing off.

Just as anxiety was building, the nearby Pixiu suddenly pointed at a spot on the water surface, shouting: “Look, look, look there!”

The water was rippling at that spot, obviously from activity below. As Shen Gun watched with trepidation, Lu Sanming pulled at him: “It’s moving! Look! It’s moving!”

Looking down, he saw that the dot that had been stationary at the lake bottom for so long had indeed abruptly shifted.

The mountain dwellers who had been standing ready around them had heard their exchange and most relaxed slightly. Someone remarked, “For things like this, we should rely on Water Ghosts. We mountain dwellers have no business dealing with things underwater.”

Shen Gun had no time to agree, constantly changing positions to try to catch another glimpse of that faint, colorful halo.

It wasn’t just him—Xian Qionghua, Meng Jinsong, and the others also kept looking toward the water’s surface. But sometimes, things are frustratingly elusive; the harder you try to see something, the less likely you are to spot it.

Just then, with a splash, Zong Hang emerged from the center of the lake. He had already removed the crocodile suit’s fish-head hood, which now hung loosely around his neck. He wiped water from his face and called out loudly: “I saw Miss Meng and her friend! They’re both down there.”

After speaking, he swam quickly toward the shore.

Down there?

Shen Gun was elated and jogged to meet him. Xian Qionghua and her group also flocked over. There were so many people that they filled that section of the shore, preventing Zong Hang from climbing out of the water.

Treading water, he looked up at everyone and said: “Don’t worry, those two are fine. They even waved at me.”

Hearing this, Qu Qiao’s eyes instantly reddened with tears. Xian Qionghua exhaled deeply but was somewhat confused: the lake surface showed no sign of drainage, meaning there was no connecting waterway, so what was this talk about waving? Where were they waving from?

Zong Hang said, “Down there, there’s a yuan tuan.”

At this point, he looked a bit embarrassed: “Um… could you all step back a bit? I came in so hurriedly that I didn’t finish learning everything. I’m not very familiar with it all, so I took photos on my phone. I need to… check them.”

Xian Qionghua and the others were momentarily stunned, then simultaneously understood. They hurriedly backed away to make room. Zong Hang came ashore, took his bag, and pulled out his phone. As he unlocked it, he glanced around at the crowd: learning in front of so many watchful eyes felt awkward.

Meng Jinsong cleared his throat: “Seventh Aunt, since Qianzi is safe, and the Water Ghost has a solution, let’s give them space to handle it. We shouldn’t crowd around. It’s inappropriate to observe someone’s secret techniques, isn’t it?”

Xian Qionghua silently cursed herself for being thoughtless: in the strictest traditions, prying into another’s skills was tantamount to stealing their craft—at minimum, it could cost one their eyesight; at worst, their life.

She quickly signaled everyone to step back, and then further back.

In truth, Zong Hang wasn’t from one of the three clans, so this hadn’t even occurred to him. Moreover, when Water Ghosts sought help from Mountain Ghosts, the principle was complete transparency and honesty. Seeing Xian Qionghua and the others misunderstand, he wanted to explain, but they had already retreated too far.

He opened his phone and began flipping through images: he’d been in such a hurry that he hadn’t been able to finish his self-study. He had photographed many book pages and stored them on his phone for reference.

As he was browsing, he suddenly felt something was amiss. Looking up, he saw Shen Gun crouching beside him.

Shen Gun was genuinely curious about Zong Hang, especially after hearing him mention “yuan tuan,” a term he didn’t understand. It was driving him crazy, but he didn’t want to disturb Zong Hang’s work. When Zong Hang noticed him, he quickly said: “Carry on, carry on.”

Then he turned his face to look at the water surface, muttering to himself: “Yuan tuan, hmm… yuan tuan.”

Zong Hang had a fondness for all Mountain Ghosts. Since childhood, his mother Tong Hong had taught him that “when people are kind to you, you should be grateful—never be an ungrateful beast that bites the hand that feeds it.” So, since the Mountain Ghosts were helping the Water Ghosts, helping Sasa, he felt he should be friendly and courteous to each one.

He lowered his head, flipping through pages while explaining: “Yuan means ‘water within water.’ Most people look at water and think it’s all the same, but there are great mysteries within water. It’s like giving you a transparent glass brick—is it necessarily made entirely of glass? Perhaps part of it is crystal, but your eyes just can’t tell the difference.”

Was he explaining this just for himself? Shen Gun quickly moved closer.

Zong Hang multitasked, browsing while explaining: “There are many types of yuan tuan in water. For instance, there’s one called ‘corpse-nurturing yuan,’ which is essentially a water coffin. A dead person placed in a corpse-nurturing yuan won’t decompose or change for many years, remaining as lifelike as ever. At one point in history, people specifically sought Water Ghosts’ help to submerge coffins in nurturing yuan, but it eventually fell out of fashion—these yuan tuan are too rare and hard to find.”

Shen Gun only regretted not having his small notebook with him; otherwise, he’d be scribbling frantically. Seeing that Zong Hang didn’t mind the interruption, he shamelessly asked a couple more questions: “Then… let’s say there’s a corpse-nurturing yuan coffin, and suddenly someone wants to build a canal there. If it’s discovered, what happens?”

Zong Hang replied: “You herd the yuan, just like herding sheep or cattle, moving the water coffin elsewhere.”

That image…

Shen Gun thought Jiang Lian should hear this: wasn’t this like herding corpses underwater? He imagined a Water Ghost wielding a whip, cracking it with a swish, driving a procession of water coffins slowly forward through the river depths…

Rather fascinating.

While lost in these thoughts, Zong Hang’s face suddenly lit up. He enlarged one of the book page images on his screen, examining it carefully, then nodded repeatedly: “Found it! I thought I remembered something about this—it should be this one, the fixed-water yuan.”

What was a fixed-water yuan? Shen Gun could only think of Sun Wukong’s sea-stabilizing pillar: “Is it something that can fix water in place?”

Zong Hang explained to Shen Gun: “Imagine a flowing waterway with a plug at each end—wouldn’t that section become stagnant, no longer flowing? Or like a bathtub—plug the drain, and the water can’t escape. A fixed-water yuan serves that same function.”

“People shouldn’t recklessly enter such water, because most of the time, once in, they can’t get out and will drown. Sometimes, even though a person can swim, after falling into a river, they just can’t resurface, no matter how hard they try. People on shore only see them struggling desperately—they might be trapped in a fixed-water yuan.”

Shen Gun felt chills running down his spine, silently thanking the heavens he couldn’t swim.

He couldn’t help asking: “If someone drowns in there, do they just stay inside forever?”

Zong Hang shook his head: “A fixed-water yuan isn’t a corpse-nurturing yuan—it will expel the dead. Alternatively, a great force might be needed to pull someone out. I don’t know how Miss Meng and her friend got in there. It seems like some force from the cave pulled them in.”

Shen Gun grew anxious: “Then… how do we rescue them? Should we lower a rope?”

Zong Hang’s words doused him with cold reality: “We can’t send anything in. Think about it—this is like a plug. Dead things can’t enter; living things that enter become dead and get expelled. Essentially, nothing can be sent in. I’m not afraid of drowning, but I tried earlier and couldn’t reach the other side of the yuan tuan, so I had to retreat. That’s why I said Miss Meng and her friend’s entry was strange.”

Shen Gun’s mind was in chaos: “Are you saying there’s no solution now?”

Zong Hang didn’t respond, lowering his head again to repeatedly study the book pages on his phone, flipping back and forth, mumbling: “Why would a yuan tuan be here? It shouldn’t form in a place like this…”

Shen Gun felt anxious: “Where should it form then?”

In great rivers, streams, and lakes. Yuan tuan are very rare; only vast environments can nurture them. This one was herded here.”

In a flash of insight, Shen Gun blurted out: “Herded here by Water Ghosts?”

Zong Hang casually replied: “Possibly. Besides Water Ghosts, no one else seems capable of herding them.”

Shen Gun stammered: “W-Water Ghosts were involved here too?”

Zong Hang didn’t understand this question and looked at Shen Gun with confusion.

Shen Gun didn’t bother explaining, feeling his lips go dry: there was no doubt—Water Ghosts had been involved here too.

The Chiyou tribe cast the bronze lid, the Sheng family collected bones with bells, establishing three coffins, and the Kuang family was involved too; otherwise, their descendants wouldn’t know this secret. The Water Ghosts herded a fixed-water yuan here, and possibly even set up crocodiles…

They were all involved, collectively turning this place into the perfect hiding spot.

After the two stared at each other for a while, Shen Gun suddenly had a bold idea.

He asked Zong Hang: “Living things enter, become dead, and get expelled—but are they expelled from this side, or the other side?”

Zong Hang hadn’t considered this question before and hesitated before answering: “Either is possible, I suppose.”

Jiang Lian had thought that help had finally arrived, and freedom wasn’t far off. Meng Qianzi shared this belief, though she felt somewhat melancholic, thinking this place was quite nice—once they left, they’d have to face many people and much chaos again.

Unexpectedly, the face that appeared merely looked down at them, smiled, and then disappeared.

What did that mean? The two exchanged bewildered glances, momentarily forgetting their hunger and exhaustion.

That face didn’t seem to belong to a mountain dweller. Moreover, the fact that he could enter this water sphere without panic indicated he wasn’t an ordinary person—Jiang Lian guessed he was a Water Ghost.

If a Water Ghost had come and made eye contact with them, it meant the giant crocodile above must have moved away. So why hadn’t he rescued them?

Unable to guess the reason, Jiang Lian comforted Meng Qianzi: “It’s alright, good things take time. Perhaps they were delayed by something else.”

Meng Qianzi murmured in agreement.

Earlier, thinking rescue was imminent, she’d felt embarrassed about being found lying in Jiang Lian’s arms, so she had struggled to sit up. But when nothing happened, she nestled back against him and even dozed off.

Strangely, she dreamed of fire again—raging flames so intense she couldn’t open her eyes.

She darted left and right through the fire, suddenly finding a direction and rushing toward it. But just as she approached, she instinctively stopped, an inner voice warning: “Don’t go, whatever you do, don’t go!”

When Jiang Lian shook her awake, her forehead was covered in fine sweat, still murmuring: “Don’t go, don’t go.”

Jiang Lian looked at her with concern. Meng Qianzi smiled at him, wanting to explain it was just a nightmare, but the words died on her lips as her entire body suddenly froze.

Jiang Lian noticed the change in her body and followed her gaze. A chill ran down his spine as he quickly turned around.

The giant crocodile had come down!

It must be the smaller of the giant crocodiles, as the larger one’s body would never fit into this water sphere. The crocodile head, with its forest of jagged teeth, struggled and thrashed against the water sphere, its appearance distorted by the water, making it look even more terrifying.

Something must have gone wrong above; otherwise, how could the crocodile break in?

Jiang Lian wanted to laugh. He truly had no strength left, not even enough to throw a punch. Besides, the space below was so small—where could they hide?

In the moment the crocodile head broke through the water sphere, Jiang Lian’s mind buzzed. He hugged Meng Qianzi tightly, whispering: “Qianzi, don’t be afraid. This is it.”

Meng Qianzi closed her eyes tightly and hugged him back, only softly murmuring agreement.

Then, apart from a rank odor, nothing happened.

Jiang Lian found it strange. After a moment, he looked back.

The crocodile’s head and half its body hung upside down, swaying gently. It was dead. Around its neck was a coil of hemp rope with a glass bottle attached. Inside the bottle was an unused light stick and a rolled paper, looking like a message in a bottle.

Jiang Lian released Meng Qianzi, gesturing for her to stay still, and slowly rose to investigate.

Meng Qianzi was extremely nervous, fearing the crocodile might be feigning death or experiencing a final surge of life that could snap at Jiang Lian.

Fortunately, nothing happened. Jiang Lian broke the glass bottle, unrolled the paper, and after a glance, quickly returned to lift her: “Let’s go, Qianzi. This small crocodile is the rope they’ve sent to rescue us.”

As they rose, they accidentally brushed against the circling phoenix feathers. These feathers had been in a delicate balance, hovering without falling. Now that the balance was disturbed, perhaps due to static electricity, they clung to their clothes, covering both of them.

Jiang Lian had no time to brush them off. He quickly untied one end of the rope coiled around the small crocodile’s neck, securing it around his and Meng Qianzi’s shoulders and waists. He instructed her: “Take a deep breath—we’re going into the water.”

As he spoke, he activated the light stick and waved it repeatedly toward the surface.

Soon, a powerful force surged, pulling them both upward, out of the water sphere. But it didn’t end there—they continued to be dragged through the water.

Jiang Lian held Meng Qianzi tightly, protecting her head with his hand while desperately trying to keep his eyes open, his heart pounding wildly.

He wasn’t sure if he was seeing things correctly: they were indeed tied to the small crocodile’s neck, but the small crocodile’s tail seemed to be connected to the large crocodile’s tail. No wonder the small crocodile hadn’t fallen directly into the hole when it died—its tail was still attached to the large crocodile.

The tremendous pulling force came from the large crocodile, which was frantically moving across the lake bottom. Suddenly it turned to bite. Seeing the crocodile head approaching, Jiang Lian’s scalp tingled with fear, but thankfully it stopped before reaching them.

Even if it had come to bite, it wouldn’t have mattered—Jiang Lian could see that this crocodile’s mouth was open, with something wedged firmly between its upper and lower jaws.

What happened next astonished him even more.

A strange-looking fish emerged from the crocodile’s throat. This fish had arms and hands, and was using its hands to lift its fish head.

Jiang Lian could no longer hold his breath; he was choking on water.

In his blurry vision, he saw the fish head lift to reveal a young, smiling face. The person quickly approached, swung his hand like a knife to cut the rope binding them, then pulled them and Meng Qianzi toward the lake surface.