Reading further, Meng Qianzi quickly understood why later generations’ attitude was respectful yet skeptical.

Because the first passage stated: The Kuang ancestors were godlike, craftsmen of the Heavenly Emperor, skilled in using blood as medium, opening sealed boxes. The Heavenly Emperor created one hundred treasure boxes, and the Kuang family alone was entrusted with forty.

Having become somewhat of an insider these days, Meng Qianzi understood at first reading: This “Heavenly Emperor” likely referred to the Yellow Emperor, and the Kuang family ancestors were indeed skilled craftsmen. “Skilled in using blood as a medium” probably meant using blood as a password to open and lock boxes. Back then, the Yellow Emperor wanted to create one hundred boxes, and the Kuang family, being famous and skilled, contracted forty of them.

Who received the orders for the other sixty boxes remained unknown, but it was conceivable that the other families weren’t ordinary craftsmen either. They probably all possessed some jaw-dropping abilities.

The thirty-ninth transcription was done in the twenty-second year of the Republic, and no matter how poor her history knowledge, Meng Qianzi knew that it was the 1930s. By then, Western learning had been flowing east for over a hundred years, and the Kuang descendants were probably studying physics and chemistry at Western-style schools. Reading about “Kuang ancestors being godlike, craftsmen of the Heavenly Emperor” would probably make them laugh their teeth off.

She continued reading.

For convenience, let’s call this Kuang family ancestor Kuang Da.

He was just a minor figure in the Kuang clan at the time, diligently crafting boxes. Of the forty boxes, only one or two passed through his hands. All craftsmen had their marks, and following custom, he left his mark in an inconspicuous place among the intricate patterns on the box.

Then he delivered them. By then, the war situation was clear: Chi You had been defeated and beheaded by the Yellow Emperor. Chi You’s tribesmen and followers retreated to the southern regions filled with poisonous gases and miasma, but the situation remained unstable. Rumors circulated that Chi You’s remnant forces, still harboring treacherous intentions, were stirring.

Kuang Da didn’t concern himself with these matters. During this period, he married, had children, refined his craft, and lived quite peacefully.

Then suddenly, one day, disaster struck. Several people broke into his home at midnight and abducted his family of three. These people had “arms like blades, faces like insects,” obviously Chi You’s tribesmen lurking in the Central Plains.

Kuang Da was terrified out of his wits. Having heard of the brutality of Chi You’s people, he thought his death was certain. Unexpectedly, they negotiated with him, asking him to pledge allegiance and serve Chi You’s cause.

After careful consideration, Kuang Da agreed. Not only that, he actively cooperated, worked hard to perform well, appearing as if he wanted to become a core member.

One wonders how the Kuang descendants felt reading this part. Ancient China greatly valued integrity, and betrayal was despised—fortunately, the story seemed absurd, so later generations could delude themselves into thinking their ancestor was just “dreaming within a dream.”

From Meng Qianzi’s perspective, while she didn’t approve, she understood: Kuang Da was an insignificant craftsman on the Yellow Emperor’s side. Bluntly put, if he died, he died—no one would care. And with Chi You, he was just meat on the chopping block. A small figure caught between two major factions, life or death depended on his own choices.

He probably wanted to live, and wanted his wife and child to live. If he didn’t appear eager and constantly demonstrate loyalty, once his usefulness ended, his fate was predictable.

Meng Qianzi saw Jiang Lian still writing, so she continued reading.

Before long, Kuang Da discovered why Chi You’s tribesmen had kidnapped him: he saw a box bearing his mark. Undoubtedly, this box had either been stolen or looted.

Only Kuang family members knew how to open such boxes. With Kuang Da’s help, the box was successfully opened.

What exactly was in the box, a minor character like Kuang Da couldn’t possibly know. He only knew that once the box was opened, he became increasingly worthless, so he became even more careful and worked even harder. Eventually, people gradually forgot his origins and treated him as one of their own.

And so, Kuang Da rushed here and there, participating in numerous affairs, though never as a core member, just running errands. But he paid close attention everywhere and seized opportunities to gather information, gradually uncovering a great secret.

Kuang Da said that he heard that generations earlier, his ancestor, Kuang Zu, was a godlike figure just like the Yellow Emperor. This explained why the oral account began with “Kuang ancestors were godlike.”

For some unknown reason, after Kuang Zu, the family gradually became ordinary, no different from others, leaving behind only some special abilities, such as using blood as a medium, but even this ability, according to clan elders, would slowly disappear.

However, if one obtained the Qilin Crystal, things would be different. “Those who obtain the Qilin Crystal become gods and gain immortality” was a widely circulated belief. However, everyone knew that the last qilin had died over a hundred years ago.

Reading this, Meng Qianzi felt a jolt in her heart. She recalled the mournful song that the divine race sang around the bonfire in Shen Gun’s dream—

“The last qilin has departed, and the golden-winged phoenix has also reached its end.”

The timeline and sequence matched perfectly.

And the great secret that Kuang Da discovered was: Chi You’s tribesmen had sent out an elite group who found a living qilin at the ancestral mountain’s slope, by the pure water source!

Kuang Da’s excitement was palpable: “Dragons are valued for their bones, phoenixes for their feathers, but for qilins, nothing is more precious than the crystal. A qilin lives for two thousand years and produces only one crystal.”

Meng Qianzi had heard that qilins could live two thousand years. Qilins had two characteristics: longevity and bringing children, both subtly connected to self-reproduction. But what this “qilin crystal” was, she truly had no clue.

Living for two thousand years, producing only one crystal—could it be something like bezoars found in cattle or dogs?

Reading further, it stated: “The descendants of Fu Xi cast divinations, with divine eyes seeing fate, saying: ‘When the crystal forms, it flies without wings, faces without a face.’ Gathering dragon bone fragments, phoenix feathers, with the box as tooth-key, the mountain ghost knocks on the door, its cave appears by itself, below…”

Mountain ghost?

Meng Qianzi’s scalp tingled. It mentioned the mountain ghost! Indeed, it mentioned the mountain ghost!

No wonder Yan Luo went to great lengths to drag Madam Duan into this murky business—”knocking on the door” like “raising the heavenly ladder” was one of the nine uses of the golden bell, but it was also lost, and she didn’t know what it meant.

What came after “below” wasn’t written.

Meng Qianzi was stunned for a moment, only then realizing that Jiang Lian had already stopped.

He held the pen, his entire person frozen in place, as if waiting for someone to guide him.

Meng Qianzi silently cursed herself for neglecting her duty: Jiang Lian had finished writing, and she’d been so engrossed in the story that she forgot to assist him.

She quickly pulled this paper aside and laid out a new one for Jiang Lian. One hand lightly pressed his back, the other held his wrist with the pen, helping him assume the posture of writing at a desk. Suddenly feeling mischievous, she ran her hand through his hair, careful not to disturb him, her fingertips just lightly brushing over the surface of his hair. She whispered instructions: “Come, be good, continue drawing. Draw well and I’ll give you meat to eat.”

Jiang Lian couldn’t actually hear her, but he was already planning to continue drawing, so as soon as she finished speaking, he began to write again, looking as if he were obediently following orders.

Meng Qianzi secretly rejoiced, as if she’d taken great advantage of Jiang Lian, feeling extremely pleased with herself.

Eager to know what happened to Kuang Da, she leaned in closer.

Unexpectedly, Jiang Lian wasn’t writing this time. The pen in his hand moved up, down, left, and right, creating flowing lines—was he drawing?

Meng Qianzi suddenly realized.

This parchment roll probably had more than one sheet. The front contained text, the back contained drawings, but Jiang Lian had only seen the sheet in Yan Luo’s hand. That meant this trip had indeed yielded something, but the information and route obtained might not be complete.

What came after “below”? Meng Qianzi opened the sheet filled with Jiang Lian’s writing again to look, and the sight almost made her vomit blood.

There was another sentence after “below,” and it was on this very page, but traditional vertical text is written from right to left. At that time, Yan Luo was holding the map, and that sentence happened to be covered by his left hand gripping the map.

That damn hand!

The night deepened, and the mountain cold was bone-chilling.

Jing Rusi, concerned about Jiang Lian’s progress with the divine eye, couldn’t sit still in her tent and decided to come out for fresh air. The lights in all the other tents were off; only Meng Qianzi’s tent had light. This light, filtered by the tent and diluted by the heavy fog, was faint and dim—since entering Kunlun, the mountain ghosts had avoided using lights at night, fearing detection.

Come to think of it, from a higher vantage point, this light would appear as just a feeble glow.

She heard footsteps behind her, followed by Xian Qionghua’s voice: “Fourth Sister, want one?”

Without looking, she knew Xian was referring to cigarettes. Jing Rusi extended her hand: “I’ll take one, to pass the time and ward off the cold.”

She heard the scratch of a match being lit. At this altitude and temperature, matches worked far better than lighters.

Then, Xian Qionghua handed her a lit cigarette.

Jing Rusi took it, inhaled once, and slowly exhaled: “Yunnan tobacco?”

Xian Qionghua’s face was shrouded in thin smoke and mist: “Yes, Little Panda brand. Big Sister likes to send me foreign cigarettes, but I can’t get used to the foreign taste.”

Jing Rusi smiled: “Big Sister is… never been abroad, yet has more foreign airs than Madam Duan. Say…”

She nodded toward Meng Qianzi’s tent: on the tent canvas, two quiet shadows occasionally overlapped.

“Is our Qianzi serious this time?”

Xian Qionghua tapped her cigarette on a nearby rock: “When has our Sister Zi ever not been serious?”

As she spoke, she counted on her fingers: “First time, she abandoned home and mother, wanting to elope with someone. Say a few words to her, and she’d threaten to jump off a building. The second time, she gave up the throne and went to the ancestral temple to swear a poisonous oath. This time, that leg of hers, I really…”

Jing Rusi considered: “What’s Big Sister’s stance? Will she let her and Jiang Lian… continue?”

“Big Sister will speak up. She originally wanted to talk with that Shen Gun, but too many things have happened lately, and she hasn’t had the chance.”

Jing Rusi gave a sound of acknowledgment: “And you? What’s your attitude when the time comes?”

Xian Qionghua didn’t speak immediately. She took two more drags before slowly responding: “Jiang Lian saved Sister Zi. It’s not fashionable to talk about jianghu anymore, but jianghu ethics require acknowledging others’ kindness. Repaying kindness with enmity is something I can’t do. I don’t have an attitude, don’t ask my opinion, I abstain.”

“What does Fifth Sister say?”

“Fifth Sister feels the same way.”

Xian Qionghua turned to look at Jing Rusi: “And you?”

Jing Rusi replied calmly: “Don’t you know Old Fourth Jing? Among seven sisters, counting from front to back, I’m fourth, and counting from back to front, I’m also fourth. Middle faction, fence-sitter, never taking the lead, standing wherever the numbers are greater.”

Xian Qionghua frowned: “What kind of attitude is that?”

Jing Rusi said: “The golden mean, practical and useful. I’ve muddled through most of my life anyway…”

Just then, the tent flap lifted, and Meng Qianzi poked her head out, saying: “It’s done.”

Shen Gun had been anxiously waiting in his tent. Upon hearing Meng Jinsong notify him that “it’s done,” he rushed over, but returned midway to fetch his oxygen tank—there was likely a breakthrough involving Miss Duan, and he feared getting too excited.

Entering the tent, he saw Xian Qionghua and Jing Rusi with their heads together, examining the sheet with text, while another sheet contained a winding route.

But the route could be viewed anytime. Shen Gun stared eagerly at Xian Qionghua and the others, his gaze filled with envy.

Meng Qianzi was mischievous. After letting him agonize to the breaking point, she finally handed him a tablet: “I’ve taken photos, but the tablet easily loses power here, so hurry.”

Shen Gun was overjoyed, taking it hastily, even forgetting to say thanks.

Jiang Lian had just expended great energy and felt dizzy and lethargic. He heard Meng Qianzi ask him: “Want some glucose?”

He nodded.

Soon, a glucose drink with its top broken off and a straw inserted was brought to his lips. Jiang Lian reached out to take it, and whether intentionally or unintentionally, his hand enclosed hers.

Her hand was slightly cool, quietly curling in his palm for a second or two before withdrawing. Then, using the momentum of standing up, she whispered in his ear: “You’re shameless.”

That comment immediately revived Jiang Lian’s spirits.

He was shameless? How was he shameless? He risked half his life applying the divine eye in the middle of the night, just held her hand once, and he was shameless? He…

Wait, wait, he remembered.

So she was referring to that incident? Flipping through the little account book with a crisp sound, confronting him?

Jiang Lian gave her a sidelong glance, shifted to a more relaxed and composed posture, and drank the glucose with the air of someone savoring fine wine, even making the slightly sweet sugar water taste somewhat intoxicating.

What now? What can you do? There are so many people here, all busy with important matters. What can you do to me?

…

Despite reading later than the others, Shen Gun read quickly. Soon, he looked at Jiang Lian with astonishment: “Little Lian Lian, that’s… it? That’s all there is?”

Jiang Lian casually took the tablet from his hands—he hadn’t even had a chance to view his hard work yet: “One must be content. What were you expecting, that Yan Luo was holding the grand finale in his hand?”

Meanwhile, Xian Qionghua finished reading first: “No wonder the Kuang descendants didn’t take this seriously. All this talk about Chi You and qilins—they probably thought their ancestor was mentally disturbed and making things up.”

Meng Qianzi nodded: “The Kuang family line consisted of gentry, wealthy households, and scholars who knew very little about the various folk religions and arts. In contrast, Yan Luo, as a bandit in Xiangxi—a place known for witchcraft, talismans, and corpse-herding—heard many such tales. Combined with the peculiar nature of that box, he was more inclined to believe.”

Shen Gun nodded: “Indeed, and after the founding of the People’s Republic, people like Yan Luo were targets of the people’s dictatorship. With nowhere to turn, he was desperate enough to take risks. So it’s all timing and fate—Yan Luo’s involvement was a confluence of circumstances.”

The account was incomplete. Yan Luo had found dragon bone fragments and phoenix feathers, likely based on this account.

Jing Rusi suddenly looked up, her face shocked: “It says here, ‘The descendants of Fu Xi cast divinations, with divine eyes seeing fate.’ Could this be… divination to see fate?”

Shen Gun said, “Yes, Fu Xi created the Eight Trigrams, and strictly speaking, those later generations skilled in trigram arts are all Fu Xi’s disciples. There was a Master Ge—I don’t know if you’ve heard of him—who could cast divinations to see fate.”

Xian Qionghua’s heart jumped: “You know Master Ge?”

“Yes, he’s my idol.”

Xian Qionghua and Jing Rusi exchanged an almost imperceptible glance, then asked: “Do you think Master Ge’s divinations are accurate?”

Shen Gun nodded vigorously: “Of course.”

Xian Qionghua persisted: “He wouldn’t make mistakes?”

Jing Rusi suddenly coughed twice.

Xian Qionghua caught on and stopped questioning.

Jiang Lian abruptly commented: “‘When the crystal forms, it flies without wings, faces without a face’—why does this sound familiar?”

Meng Qianzi, having read it earlier, had already been thinking about it: “It was in the Water Ghost’s video.”

Jiang Lian remembered now. The Water Ghost had been motivated to search for the Drifting Cave because they kept failing to open the Golden Soup. The Water Ghost’s master had given a hint that the Drifting Cave was located “where rivers branch like a broom, earth opens its door, wind rushes toward the stars.” As for the suitable time to open the Drifting Cave, it was precisely “flies without wings, faces without a face.”

Jiang Lian drew in a sharp breath: “So the real reason was ‘crystal formation’?”

The crystal has formed, you may come now—it reminded him of animals fattened for slaughter, with knives being sharpened.

Jing Rusi said: “Young people nowadays often say ‘betraying their fathers,’ right? The Water Ghost family is doing the opposite—betraying their descendants.”

Saying this, she suddenly remembered something, her heart chilling, and asked Xian Qionghua: “With the Water Ghost family behaving this way, could our Mountain Ghost Grandmother… also be setting us up? What exactly is that ‘Mountain Gallbladder’? It just hangs there, we’ve never heard of any use for it… The more I think about it, the more it feels like a ticking time bomb. Where is the Mountain Gallbladder now?”

Xian Qionghua’s scalp tingled at her words: “Fourth Sister, don’t scare people. The Mountain Gallbladder isn’t like that.”

Though she said this, she still felt uneasy and turned to instruct Meng Qianzi: “Sister Zi, quickly arrange for someone to move the Mountain Gallbladder elsewhere—I don’t feel comfortable with it in the Shanmei Chamber.”

Meng Qianzi almost couldn’t hold back her laughter.

How times had changed! When she first took the Mountain Gallbladder from Xuandan Peak Forest, Fifth Mother had scolded her, insisting that this object should be enshrined and that moving it casually was disrespectful. Now it had become a hot potato they were eager to get rid of.

She gave an affirmative sound, then moved closer to Jiang Lian, looking at the tablet in his hand: “It says here, ‘Gathering dragon bone fragments, phoenix feathers, with the box as tooth-key, the mountain ghost knocks on the door.’ Does this mean these items must be collected to obtain the Qilin Crystal? What does ‘tooth-key’ mean?”

Among those present, only Shen Gun could answer this question.

It turned out that in ancient times, when productive forces were underdeveloped, there were no boxes or cases. Ancient people who wanted to store their items would wrap them in layers of animal hides, then secure them with hemp rope or vines. For safety, they would typically tie very complex knots that couldn’t be untied by hand.

Usually, they would grind stone or animal bones into awl shapes to untie the knots. These sharpened stones or animal bones were called “stone keys” or “tooth keys”—essentially, the most primitive form of keys.

“Box as tooth-key” suggested that the box was crucial, meant to open something. No wonder Yan Luo brought that box when entering Kunlun. After succeeding, the box lost its value and was abandoned here.

Since his last question, Jiang Lian had been examining the account on the tablet without participating in the discussion. He enlarged the image, reviewed the middle columns repeatedly, and finally couldn’t help saying: “Don’t you think some parts here are logically inconsistent… contradictory?”

“Chi You’s tribesmen found a living qilin at the ancestral mountain’s slope, by the pure water source. This event should be impossible.”