Shen Gun was terrified out of his wits. With the upper route blocked, the downward path became the primary choice again. He shouted: “Little Lian Lian, quick, you have a gun, shoot through this bronze plate, let’s get into the water!”

Shen Gun couldn’t swim at all, but who cared? Deal with the immediate situation first; once in the water, they’d figure out what to do there.

It was a possible escape route. Jiang Lian drew his gun, positioned his feet, and fired at the seam between the bronze plate and the tube wall. Shen Gun stomped and kicked beside him, hoping for a miracle—that the bronze plate would suddenly collapse. However, nothing happened, though something in the water below, carried by buoyancy, bumped against the perforated bronze plate.

The water had already reached their calves. Through the rippling ice water, Jiang Lian vaguely discerned the outline of the object. His mind suddenly went blank, and he shouted: “A box! Is that a box?”

The water surged, and the object pressed against the bronze plate for less than two seconds before disappearing. Shen Gun quickly looked down but saw nothing. In the urgent situation, he had completely forgotten what “box” referred to. His voice and body trembled like a sieve: “What box?”

Then, suddenly, the world went still.

The cracking sounds that had been surging like a tide through the tube walls disappeared.

What did that mean? Cold sweat slid down Jiang Lian’s neck and into his collar. He and Shen Gun exchanged a glance, then slowly looked up.

They saw them—they had arrived, just above their heads. The ones at the front were merely two or three centimeters from their eyes.

Jiang Lian didn’t know what these were. They looked like small pebbles, roughly the size of locusts, the same color as the mountain wall. If they weren’t moving and were lying on the ground, he would have thought they were stone fragments; if they were stationary on the mountain wall, he would have assumed they were just rocky protrusions.

However, they were moving.

The scene was somewhat nauseating—tens of thousands of densely packed stone insects piled together like countless bees entering and exiting a hive, almost blocking the entire tube. Looking at them, one would doubt their own eyes, thinking the stone wall had cracked into innumerable small pieces and was flowing sinuously.

The water had reached their thighs.

Shen Gun’s Adam’s apple bobbed: “Little… Little Lian Lian, why aren’t they coming down to gnaw on us?”

Jiang Lian said, “I don’t know.”

He still had the flamethrower at his waist, but it was completely useless: if he fired upward, the fuel droplets would fall back down, and he and Shen Gun would die even more miserably—burning and high-temperature carbonization wouldn’t be much more comfortable than being eaten by stone insects.

During this brief exchange, the water had reached their waists. Jiang Lian held his gun as high as possible: if these stone insects attacked, they would be gnawed and eaten alive; if they didn’t attack, they would drown in the water and then freeze in a crystalline ice pillar.

Let it be. Jiang Lian grew surprisingly calm: “If they come down, or if the water covers our heads, I’ll shoot you first, so at least we can die more comfortably.”

Shen Gun made an affirmative sound: “Aim for the head. Don’t miss—I don’t want to suffer being shot and still not die.”

Jiang Lian smiled.

Just then, the swarm of stone insects suddenly moved. Jiang Lian’s heart pounded, and his finger nearly pressed the trigger, but he immediately realized: these stone insects were leaving.

What did that mean? Why would they leave? There was no one else here—the Third, Fourth, and Seventh Great-aunts, not to mention Meng Qianzi, were all absent. No one was performing the Mountain Beast Avoidance ritual, so why were they leaving?

Shen Gun’s voice changed pitch: “They’re… leaving? Little Lian Lian, what did you do?”

It couldn’t be because of him; it could only be…

Jiang Lian suddenly shouted: “Quick, grab onto them! Grab them!”

Shen Gun’s scalp tingled with cold fear. He was already grateful they weren’t gnawing on him—now he was supposed to grab them? Did he want to die faster?

Jiang Lian’s voice grew hoarse: “Don’t you understand? It’s because of you! Just like when the mountain-gall broke in your hand, and the giant crocodile rushed toward you—it’s because of you! As long as they don’t harm you, if you cling to them, you can get out of here!”

Damn it!

Shen Gun didn’t have time to think it through; he only registered the phrase “get out of here.” However, the stone insects were retreating quickly. In his moment of hesitation, the water had already reached their chests, and his outstretched hand could no longer reach the stone insects. In that critical moment, Jiang Lian took a deep breath, instantly submerged, grabbed Shen Gun’s legs, and thrust him upward. Shen Gun let out a great shout, desperately clawing at and pressing against countless stone insects. The sensation was incredibly strange: sometimes cold and hard, sometimes warm and soft, as if these creatures could breathe…

This terrified him to the point that every hair stood on end, but the terror was quickly overwhelmed by enormous elation: his palms and even his arms seemed to have suction cups attached to them. Without him exerting any effort, his body was carried upward as if hitching a ride… well, not a ride… more like hitching a bug, winding upward.

He excitedly called: “Little Lian Lian, I’m going up…”

There was a splash as Jiang Lian, tightly holding onto his legs, was also lifted from the water. Shen Gun quickly shut his mouth, only now realizing the gravity of his responsibility: if he lost his grip even slightly, their chance for survival would be lost—one fall, two lives gone.

His palms sweated, and he pressed down even harder. In his daze, he felt these stone insects were like a swarm of ants, and he and Jiang Lian were like large bugs being dragged back to the nest.

He nervously called down: “Little Lian Lian, are we just going to be… dragged along like this?”

Jiang Lian was soaked, now being dragged along the icy wall. The tips of his hair had already formed ice crystals, and his lips were frozen purple-blue. He said: “We’ll see. As long as we’re not in this hellish place anymore and we’re safe, we’ll let go.”

What followed was a journey through the “blood vessels.” Jiang Lian’s guess was correct—there were multiple vessels, truly intersecting like neural trees, with ice covering the cave walls.

He recalled the strange rising water: perhaps here, the water rose and fell repeatedly. After the water receded, the remaining water on the cave walls instantly froze. Year after year, this process had formed today’s interlacing network of icy blood vessels.

Falling into such a place was truly more terrifying than falling into a trap…

His heart skipped a beat as he suddenly remembered what he had glimpsed through the rippling ice water, through the perforated bronze plate.

Was it the box he had been searching for all along?

It looked very similar. Though it was just a fleeting glance, with the object underwater and separated by the bronze plate, it was impossible to make out any patterns or engravings. But he was one hundred percent certain it was a box.

A box floating on the mysterious water surface, rising with the water’s rise and falling with its recession.

Although there was still thin ice on the mountain walls, it was no longer as confined as the blood vessels, and finally, it was a flat path rather than a vertical tube. Only then did Shen Gun release his grip—when he let go, he discovered that from holding on so tightly, his fingers were numb and couldn’t move.

He shook and flailed until he finally broke free from the group of stone insects, watching as that strange stone tide disappeared into the intricate mountain intestines.

The two men collapsed in the mountain’s intestine, equally dazed, their minds not yet recovered from the recent peril.

After a while, Shen Gun murmured, “Little Lian Lian, why do you smell so fragrant?”

Now that he mentioned it, Jiang Lian also noticed the peculiar fragrance. He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a handful of glass shards.

He shook off the shards: during their tumbling and crashing through the blood vessels, the vial of perfume had broken at some point. Soaked in water, the scent had completely dispersed, making him smell like a human-shaped bouquet.

Jiang Lian’s mind was still numb: “Without experiencing bone-chilling cold, how could one enjoy the sweet fragrance of plum blossoms…”

As he spoke, he tapped his frozen, frosted sleeve with his dagger: “See? I just went through bone-chilling cold, and now I’m sweetly fragrant.”

“Aren’t you going to take it off?”

Jiang Lian shook his head.

No, he wouldn’t remove it. When he submerged, he had risen quickly, and his clothes hadn’t been thoroughly soaked. The ice had formed rapidly, and certain parts of his clothing were still warm.

After this brief exchange, Shen Gun finally recovered: “Little Lian Lian, how can I avoid mountain beasts too? Could I also be a Mountain Ghost?”

Jiang Lian was exasperated: “If you can’t find your ancestor, don’t randomly assign yourself. First Ancestor Peng, then Ancestor Kuang, and now you’re a Mountain Ghost—what you experienced wasn’t ‘avoiding mountain beasts.’ That means they flee before you arrive, without any chance of encounter.”

“Those stone insects just didn’t attack you. Perhaps you’re old acquaintances. Didn’t you say that you wrote Ancestor Kuang’s oral account? Your ancestors most likely came here before…”

Shen Gun suddenly interrupted him: “What’s that sound?”

Jiang Lian tensed, quickly raising his gun and pointing his pocket flashlight in the direction of the sound.

It was a branch passage.

The flashlight was waterproof, but after all the impacts and soaking, the light seemed to have dimmed to a murky yellow, making the area it illuminated appear eerie and sinister.

The sound grew closer—rustling and fragmentary, interspersed with occasional “ooh ooh” sounds.

Shen Gun was so nervous that he stopped breathing. It was coming again, getting closer. The light gradually pulled a twisted, huge, and bizarre shadow out from the branch passage. Its mouth was long and pointed, its head deformed. Despite knowing there was light and people here, it approached unhurriedly, indicating it didn’t consider them a threat at all…

Just as the creature was about to cross the threshold, Shen Gun’s tightly strung nerves snapped instantly. Using all his strength, he screamed: “Kill it!”

When enemies meet on a narrow path, the brave prevail—he had to seize the initiative with a fierce cry!

The snow pheasant, having just stepped out of the branch passage, was startled, stumbled, and nearly rolled over.

Huh, a chicken?

Shen Gun was bewildered.

Jiang Lian exhaled in relief and holstered his gun.

Shen Gun nudged Jiang Lian with his elbow: “Little Lian Lian, it’s a snow pheasant.”

Jiang Lian made an affirmative sound: “Didn’t Huang Song say that Qianzi sent in two snow pheasants? One died heroically, and one lost contact. This must be the one that lost contact—it’s really lucky.”

As he said this, hope suddenly rose in his heart: if a mere chicken could survive in here until now, then Qianzi should also be… doing alright, right?

He braced himself against the mountain wall and stood up: “Let’s go, we still need to find people.”

Shen Gun pointed at the snow pheasant: “Let’s take it with us. Meeting it is fate—I’m telling you, I have a special connection with chickens. Generally, when chickens appear, it’s a good omen.”

Fine, they could take it, but why all the pointless talk? Jiang Lian was irritated.

Shen Gun approached the snow pheasant, making “ooh ooh ooh” sounds. The pheasant was peculiar—it stood still, waiting until Shen Gun got close, then fluttered away. But it only ran a few steps before stopping, peering at Shen Gun with its small, bright eyes.

After this was repeated several times, Jiang Lian grew impatient: “Are you playing games now?”

Shen Gun frowned: “No, Little Lian Lian, this chicken seems to want to lead us somewhere.”

Really? Jiang Lian gave the snow pheasant a sidelong glance: “What if it’s leading you into a trap?”

“What if it’s not a trap, but something urgent?”

Hard to say—fifty-fifty chance. Going left or right made no difference to Jiang Lian: “Let’s go see.”

The snow pheasant was indeed leading the way, waddling ahead with its swaying rear, occasionally looking back anxiously, afraid the two men would leave.

Jiang Lian kept eyeing the chicken skeptically. If it were a dog, he might have trusted it more, but a… snow pheasant?

Shen Gun enlightened him: “Little Lian Lian, don’t underestimate chickens. Scientific research shows that a chicken’s intelligence is roughly equivalent to a six or seven-year-old child.”

Is that so? Jiang Lian remained noncommittal.

After walking a while longer, the snow pheasant turned into a slightly lower branch passage. Jiang Lian had to duck his head to walk, and the passage grew increasingly lower. By the end, Jiang Lian was completely speechless.

For humans, it was practically a dead end; for chickens, it was still passable because there was a hole at the bottom. No exaggeration—it was smaller than a dog hole.

The snow pheasant shook its feathers and squeezed through.

Shen Gun was at a loss for words. Jiang Lian sighed: “We followed it for nothing. Let’s go.”

Just as they were about to turn back, the snow pheasant emerged again, probably returning after seeing they hadn’t followed. Seeing that Jiang Lian and Shen Gun were about to leave, it was greatly alarmed and scurried over, nudging Jiang Lian’s hiking boot with its small head.

It was too small and weak to kick. Jiang Lian raised his foot to step around it and continued toward the exit.

The snow pheasant grew increasingly anxious, suddenly fluttering past the two men to block their path. It spread its small wings in a defiant stance, refusing to let them pass.

Jiang Lian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry: looking like a quail, did it think it was an eagle?

He crouched down: “Brother Chicken, it’s not that we don’t want to go, but I heard you have the intelligence of a six or seven-year-old child. Look at my size—do I look like I can squeeze through that hole? Come on, don’t ask the impossible.”

Having said this, he was about to stand up when his heart suddenly tightened, and he crouched back down.

Shen Gun was puzzled and was about to speak, but Jiang Lian raised his hand to stop him.

He thought… he heard Meng Qianzi’s voice.

Jiang Lian’s heart began to race wildly: mountain intestines absorbed sound. Unless Meng Qianzi was nearby and shouting very loudly, he shouldn’t be able to hear her.

His forehead began to sweat again. It seemed real, though the sound was ethereal and scattered in all directions, he truly heard it. Moreover, it sounded like she was calling his name.

Jiang Lian instantly reacted. He bent down toward the hole and shouted: “Qianzi?”

Damn, he was one hundred percent certain the sound was coming from the other side.

Jiang Lian’s blood boiled in an instant. Gritting his teeth, he desperately tried to squeeze through the hole. When he got stuck at the shoulders, he withdrew, quickly removed his clothes—first his jacket, then his sweater. Shen Gun anxiously said, “Even if you stripped off your skin, you still wouldn’t fit through! What are you trying to squeeze into?”

Jiang Lian ignored him, tossing his clothes behind him as he tried again to squeeze through, shouting at Shen Gun: “Help me, push me in!”

How could this possibly be solved with just a push? No matter how hard you pushed, a pig couldn’t root its way into a dog hole, nor could a wolf squeeze into a snake den. Shen Gun was truly speechless, but he had no choice but to push from behind.

The snow pheasant watched in astonishment, as if viewing a strange spectacle.

Jiang Lian desperately sucked in his breath as he squeezed inside. Fortunately, the hole wasn’t long. Using all his strength, he managed to get half his face and one eye through to the other side. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness, so he used the hand pinned beneath his body to push the pocket flashlight forward, finally maneuvering the lit flashlight out from under his compressed facial flesh.

Breathing heavily, he looked forward, downward, and tilted his eyes upward.

He saw her.

At this sight, blood rushed to his head, then instantly turned cold, causing his entire body to shudder.

Meng Qianzi was suspended in mid-air, about ten meters up, seemingly embracing someone’s legs. That person was hanging from a chain, which rattled noisily. Meng Qianzi’s body swayed in mid-air, trembling precariously—a heart-stopping sight.

He shouted: “Qianzi, hold on a little longer! I’ll be there right away.”