Whether this other person was indeed Shen Gun or not, they would know by trying.

Upon receiving the message, Shen Gun quickly arrived with the box in tow.

Unfortunately, Meng Qianzi’s rare moment of confident speculation was met with a bucket of cold water.

While Kuang Meiying’s blood at least boiled a bit when dripped onto the engraved knot, Shen Gun’s blood remained as quiet as a chicken when applied—and a dead chicken at that.

Meng Qianzi felt quite embarrassed, but quickly found a reason to comfort herself: after all, she had never claimed to be exceptionally intelligent, so a failed speculation was perfectly normal.

Hope came quickly and departed even faster. Shen Gun was deeply dejected. After returning to his room, he sighed repeatedly, with no appetite even when dinner was brought to him.

He frequently scratched his head, occasionally glanced at his phone, and offered suggestions to Jiang Lian: “Little Lianlian, what do you think… should I tell them not to come yet?”

Having called people from so far away, giving them such great hope…

How could he face them now? How could he conclude this situation?

Jiang Lian swallowed a mouthful of food, both amused and exasperated: “Are you toying with them? It’s been several days already. Your friends must be nearly here. Now you want them to turn back?”

He tapped on Shen Gun’s plate: “Eat up. After eating, go take a bath, make yourself presentable for meeting old friends—this way, even if you get beaten up, at least you’ll look respectable beforehand.”

Shen Gun was nearly infuriated by Jiang Lian’s words.

But though the words were crude, the reasoning was sound. Meeting friends, he should at least spruce himself up a bit.

Before bed, Shen Gun grabbed a towel and headed to the bathhouse.

The so-called bathhouse was a temporary setup, divided for men and women, specifically for mountain dwellers. The water came from a well, heated by solar energy, enough for only about ten people each night—many mountain dwellers, knowing the water shortage, didn’t bother coming, instead washing with a basin of water or making do with a few wet wipes.

That night, the bathhouse was quite empty, serving only a few mountain dwellers. Shen Gun arrived late, after the accumulated steam from previous bathers had dissipated. Shivering, he splashed water on himself, applied shampoo, and scrubbed with soap. By the time he finished, the entire bathroom contained only a layer of lukewarm, thin steam, wrapped with the yellowish light, creating a hazy, dreamy atmosphere.

Shen Gun dried his body with a large towel and naturally walked to the grooming mirror hanging on the wall. The mirror was covered with steam in many places, blurring much of it, but patches of clarity remained among the blur.

One clear patch of mirror reflected the long, narrow scar on his lower abdomen.

Shen Gun glanced at it and continued drying himself, but as he did so, his movements slowed.

He wiped away the moisture on the mirror with his hand. Where his palm had passed, a stretched, distorted “S” shape appeared, dark red, very much like a birthmark.

In a flash of insight, a thought suddenly struck Shen Gun’s mind.

He tossed the large towel aside, not even bothering to put on his underwear. Slipping into his bath sandals, he wrapped himself in his long coat and rushed out like a gust of wind, not forgetting to call to the doorkeeper: “I’m not finished yet, I forgot to bring my change of clothes, I’ll go back and get them.”

The person was busy playing a mobile game and merely grunted in response, not even bothering to look up.

Shen Gun ran back to his room in one breath.

This time, because many reinforcements had arrived, accommodations at the camp were quite tight. The felt houses were already packed, and many tents had been set up on the open ground. But as guests, Shen Gun and his companions maintained their original arrangement, with four people sharing one room.

Jiang Lian and the others had already gone to bed, though they were still half-awake. Kuang Meiying, hearing the noise, felt cold and was too lazy to sit up, asking vaguely: “Hmm?”

Shen Gun repeated his excuse: “I forgot to bring something for my bath, came back to get it.”

As he spoke, he grabbed the box and went out again.

Jiang Lian turned over in his bed, too lazy to open his eyes, only silently criticizing: So absent-minded.

By the time he returned to the bathroom, the steam had long dispersed. The room was very quiet, the kind of quiet that hides secrets.

Shen Gun knelt on one knee, placed the box precisely, then opened his tightly closed collar slightly, revealing the birthmark that extended downward from his chest.

Then, he took out a small folding knife from his pocket, one he had previously received from Tao Tian: the mountain dwellers’ equipment was of superior quality. The blade unfolded to reveal a sharp, gleaming tip that seemed to hold sunlight, its edge covered with new, fine grinding marks.

He cut into a spot on the birthmark.

The knife tip went in very shallowly, but blood, as if it had been waiting for a long time, immediately swelled and flowed out, bright in color. Shen Gun wiped some and smeared it on the first knot of the phoenix-luan body on the box.

The light melody of the mobile game faintly penetrated through the door crack. The blood bubbled and boiled on the box surface.

Shen Gun lit his lighter and set fire to the edge of the blood. The fierce flame, as if alive, rolled from one side to the other. Then, he heard a soft click from deep within the box.

He repeated the previous actions for the second knot, then the third. Each time, a subtle click sounded.

After the three clicks, the box returned to silence. The room was so quiet that not even breathing could be heard. Outside was also silent—the doorkeeper had probably finished his game.

Shen Gun was not disappointed. He instinctively felt that this time, something would happen. All he needed was patience and waiting.

The silence outside, and the silence of the mountains, entwined together, inch by inch, invading this cold bathroom.

Suddenly, an unidentified night bird flew low overhead, making strange, harsh cawing sounds. Almost simultaneously, the box lid clicked open.

Jiang Lian was awakened once by a noise in the middle of the night.

At that time, with drowsy eyes, in the dim light, he saw Shen Gun lying down with a mind full of concerns. Before he could discern how heavy those concerns were, Shen Gun’s hand pulled the light cord, and the light disappeared.

Jiang Lian sympathized with Shen Gun in the darkness before falling asleep again. Due to his thoughts, he even had a dream.

In the dream, he had white hair and a long beard, presenting the image of a sage, mature and benevolent, comforting Shen Gun, saying: “It’s alright, there will always be a way.”

Shen Gun looked up at him, his miserable expression gradually turning to infinite trust, saying: “Teacher Jiang Lian, I’ll do whatever you say.”

…

Being regarded as a life mentor was quite pleasing, a pleasure that extended from the dream to reality, to the corner of Jiang Lian’s lips as he slept deeply.

Just at that moment, he suddenly heard a loud: “He… duo… luo…”

What did that mean? Had he drunk too much to have such a dream?

Another clear “He… duo… luo” followed.

Jiang Lian woke with a start.

Outside the window was a dim whiteness—dawn had broken.

So that just now was… a rooster’s crow? But hadn’t Jiang Qiaoqiao always followed the “oh-oh-oh” style? Besides, Qiaoqiao always crowed melodiously, not with such formidable lung power that could swallow mountains and seas…

After another crow, Wei Biao sighed impatiently, while Kuang Meiying tucked her head into her sleeping bag, muttering complaints about which family’s rooster had such poor timing. Only Shen Gun bolted upright in bed.

After a moment’s pause, he realized what was happening and shouted, “It’s our Jiefang!” Then he grabbed his coat and tumbled out of bed, rolling and crawling as if falling off, and then rolled out of the room.

Jiefang? The mountain rooster Cao Jiefang, who had bravely fought the Fierce Simple that Shen Gun had mentioned before?

Jiang Lian felt curious, and with no more sleepiness, wrapped himself in his coat and nimbly got out of bed to follow. He had just stepped outside when he heard Shen Gun’s wail, followed by a desperate accusation: “Our Jiefang, how did you get so fat?”

By this time, some mountain dwellers had already risen and were washing up in front of their tents and doors. Early northwestern mornings were often foggy, with a light mist enveloping the felt houses and tents, spreading across the pathways.

Visitors were visitors, bringing their dust, distinctly different from the settled residents’ tranquility. Jiang Lian immediately took in the newly arrived vehicles and people.

The car was an older model, a black Hummer H2, travel-worn and dusty, with a touch of moisture from the fog. A row of hunting lights was mounted across the roof, but in this fine mist, they weren’t imposing, more like quiet eyes.

A tall man, about thirty years old, stepped down from the driver’s seat. His physique was perfect for clothes—an ordinary black jacket on him instantly became stylish. Though he was smiling, in extremely rare moments, his gaze would suddenly turn dark and sharp.

This person was probably Luo Ren.

Luo Ren closed the car door without looking up at anyone. Only his arm unconsciously raised, and a young woman who had just gotten out and was putting on her coat naturally leaned toward him, perfectly fitting into his embrace.

This should be Mei Hua Jiu Niang’s closed-door disciple, Mu Dai—gentle, elegant, delicate, and fragile, nothing like someone possessing superior martial arts.

When Luo Ren turned his head, perhaps noticing that Mu Dai’s clothes weren’t properly buttoned, he withdrew his hand and carefully helped her fasten her collar.

Jiang Lian felt somewhat envious: it must take great familiarity and compatibility to develop such natural, almost unnoticeable tacit understanding. He wondered when he and Qianzi would reach this stage—not verbally expressing love, but overflowing with it in every gesture.

On the other side of the car stood another couple. Their ages weren’t easy to discern, probably between twenty-five and thirty. The woman wore a red down jacket, had a round face, with traditionally beautiful features. The man was tall and slender, with a somewhat artistic temperament tinged with unrestrained wildness.

These were most likely Yan Hongsha and Yi Wan San, whom Shen Gun desperately wanted to match but had no means to approach. Yi Wan San was reportedly also surnamed Jiang, supposedly from the same family as Jiang Lian five hundred years ago—just as Shen Gun had said, the atmosphere between these two was somewhat awkward. They seemed perfectly matched and would be a waste not to be a couple, but as a couple, they seemed far from the commonly understood sweet and tender relationship.

However, what most attracted Jiang Lian’s attention was the fat man walking at the front.

This fat man was in his thirties, with a shiny face and plump figure, dressed in designer brands. His demeanor was like a nouveau riche coming to develop the Great Northwest. It was he who responded loudly to Shen Gun’s words: “Brother Gun, how can it not be fat? As a middle-aged male chicken…”

He paused, apparently feeling that this term sounded strange, and corrected himself: “…as a middle-aged male mountain rooster without exercising or self-improvement, lacking crisis awareness, spending all day with a group of countryside mountain hen girls from Fengzi Ridge, indulging in female company, what future could it have?”

Shen Gun crouched down in distress.

Only at this moment did Jiang Lian see that in front of Shen Gun was a plump mountain rooster with extremely bright and glossy feathers. Just as people have positions that suit them, in his view, this rooster would be perfect for the pot.

Shen Gun raged at its lack of ambition: “Jiefang, you were once handsome. Look at you now, your neck is so thick that even a rooster tag would chafe. Have you just given up on yourself?”

Cao Jiefang gave Shen Gun a contemptuous look, shifting its steps to support its chubby body, and waddled past him.

This was a proud rooster—no looks perhaps, no figure either, but it certainly maintained its dignity.

Shen Gun suddenly remembered something and asked the fat man, “Fat Cao, why did you bring Jiefang? You don’t travel the same route.”

These five lived in Lijiang, but Cao Jiefang had long retreated to the mountains, settling in Fengzi Ridge near Hangu Pass—one in the south, one in the north, separated by mountains and rivers.

Cao Yanhua reached up to smooth his hairstyle, which remained impeccably neat despite the long journey: “Back when we captured the Fierce Simple, Jiefang contributed too. Now you tell us it’s going to be completely resolved—at this historic moment, how could we not bring Jiefang to experience it?”

As he spoke, a series of rapid “oh-oh-oh” sounds approached from afar.

Jiang Lian looked back to see that it was Jiang Qiaoqiao, running downhill at a trot. It had probably heard the commotion, especially the sounds of its kind, and couldn’t resist coming to see the excitement. Unfamiliar with the group of people, it ran straight to Jiang Lian. When it reached Jiang Lian’s feet, perhaps out of shyness, it unusually hid its body behind Jiang Lian’s pant leg, only bashfully poking out its head.

Luo Ren’s group didn’t pay much attention to Jiang Lian, treating him as a curious onlooker from the mountain dwellers. But Cao Jiefang suddenly transformed from its previous laxity—its neck straightened, its body stood tall, and even its gaze became piercing. It managed to project a hint of its former handsome bearing from its middle-aged, portly body.

Luo Ren and his group weren’t the type to socialize widely. Shen Gun knew their temperament and didn’t plan to actively introduce them to the mountain dwellers. Besides, it was still early, and Meng Qianzi and the others hadn’t risen yet.

However, he figured that the mountain dwellers would come to visit on their own: didn’t the mountain dwellers like to connect with capable people? Moreover, Duan Wenxi and Mei Hua Jiu Niang had an old connection, which, by extension, meant Meng Qianzi and Mu Dai had ties. The two sides would meet face to face, one way or another.

Triple lotus petal status was different after all. The mountain dwellers quickly vacated a small felt house for Shen Gun to use as a reception room.

Jiang Lian didn’t go in. These were old friends meeting—what business did he have standing around?

However, as he passed by the felt house, he instinctively paused for a moment.

He heard continuous laughter from inside.

He heard Cao Yanhua say, “Brother Gun, you want to take it back? These past years have made me strong. I can climb walls like a gecko, slick as can be. I’ve grown attached to it. Oh, I hate to part with it.”

Yi Wan San snorted: “Brother Cao, what kind of mentality is this? The Fierce Simple gives you some benefits, and you develop feelings for it? If there’s a traitor among us, it’s you.”

Luo Ren said, “It should still be collected. Having it inside our bodies for so long isn’t a good thing.”

Yan Hongsha giggled: “Of course it should be collected. Otherwise, Mu Dai wouldn’t dare to have children with you, and I’d be a godmother in name only.”

…

After that, the curtain fell, the felt door closed, and the voices inside could no longer be heard.

Jiang Lian walked around the felt house, all the way up the slope, picked up a stone to sit on, watching the gradually dispersing thin fog, and also the felt house with its tightly closed door.

He felt quite envious.