Early the next morning, Meng Qianzi received news that she would be withdrawing with the main group in the morning.

At that moment, she was grooming herself and showed no particular expression, merely responding with an offhand “mm” to indicate she understood.

Beside her, Xin Ci was indignant. Once the messenger left, he couldn’t help complaining: “Wow, is it necessary? It’s just dating, not like you’re inheriting some family mine…”

He suddenly remembered that there was a mine, so he changed his tune: “Qianzi, are your aunties hatching new schemes after their first plan failed? Separating you two first, then dealing with Jiang Lian.”

Meng Qianzi frowned. “I think if you changed careers, you’d make a suitable screenwriter.”

Xin Ci shrugged, using a soft-toothed comb to arrange her hair. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Once you leave, what if Jiang Lian gets knocked out, stuffed into a sack, and sold to South America? In that vast sea of humanity, you might never see him again.”

Meng Qianzi responded irritably, “You’re annoying.”

Xin Ci hummed. “It’s your heart that’s troubled, isn’t it?”

After breakfast, the camp was bustling with activity. Yesterday was just a warm-up; today was the major withdrawal. Everywhere was noisy with human voices and clanging sounds, even livelier than a construction site.

Jiang Lian remembered that Luo Ren’s group would also be leaving, so he came over to say goodbye. Just as he approached the felt tent, he ran into Shen Gun.

Shen Gun hadn’t returned to his room last night; he had slept here.

He greeted Jiang Lian: “Little Lian Lian, good morning.”

Jiang Lian was about to return the greeting when his nose suddenly caught a scent. His eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at Shen Gun. “Are you wearing perfume?”

Shen Gun replied, “Mm-hmm.”

Just “mm-hmm”? Jiang Lian had too many comments to even begin. “Why are you wearing perfume?”

Of course, middle-aged men could wear perfume: a refined elderly gentleman using a neatly folded handkerchief with a touch of cologne was quite pleasant.

But Shen Gun, with his street food vendor aura and perfume, they were completely mismatched.

Shen Gun rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong? You can smell nice after being bitterly cold, but I can’t smell fragrant?”

The subtext was clear: Is it any of your business?

Fine. Jiang Lian had to close his mouth. In this camp, probably only Xin Ci had a supply of beauty products. Shen Gun must have borrowed some from him.

But still, it was… strange.

As Jiang Lian’s mind wandered, he forgot what he had come to do. While he was still in a daze, he suddenly heard Meng Qianzi calling him.

He turned his head.

Meng Qianzi, who claimed to have “eaten mountain delicacies since childhood and possessed a constitution far superior to ordinary people,” truly lived up to her words. Yesterday, she needed support to move around, but now she could hobble along with a hiking pole.

Jiang Lian didn’t want her walking too much and strode over to meet her.

When he reached her, he hesitated for a moment but still raised his hand to support one of her arms in case she lost balance. Under so many watchful eyes, it wasn’t appropriate to be too intimate, but offering support as an act of kindness was certainly acceptable.

Meng Qianzi said to him, “Your collar, how did it get folded like that?”

She leaned her hiking pole against her leg and reached out to fix his collar.

Jiang Lian instinctively wanted to dodge, but then thought better of it. If she was being so natural about it, why should he be shy?

He stood still, looking down as she straightened his crooked collar.

Her fingers were very cool and occasionally brushed against his neck. Jiang Lian pretended to casually glance around and lowered his voice. “Hey, people will see.”

He didn’t mind for himself, but he didn’t want her to become the subject of gossip. Those mountain dwellers passing by, though seemingly looking straight ahead, would—he had no doubt—instantly spread this scene throughout the camp, reaching the ears of those who had already withdrawn yesterday, then spreading through various instant messaging tools across the southern waters, northern lands, and mountain ranges to every lodge, shelter, and nest.

Meng Qianzi said, “So what if they see? This day would come sooner or later.”

She added with a mischievous smile, “Since someone has no official status, I must take extra care in other aspects, paying attention to details, so he won’t secretly wipe tears when no one’s looking.”

Jiang Lian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Just as he was about to retort, Meng Qianzi said something that dampened his mood.

“By the way, Auntie had someone inform me this morning that I’ll be withdrawing with the group today.”

The news was somewhat sudden but understandable. The Mountain Ghost organization would likely be occupied with arranging Duan Wenxi’s funeral and handling the aftermath for the dozen or so casualties. There was no reason for Meng Qianzi to remain in the camp.

Jiang Lian nodded. “That’s fine, as long as we stay in touch. I hope when we meet in a few days, we can pick up seamlessly without any avoiding each other, changing hearts, or disappearing without a trace.”

Meng Qianzi lowered her eyes, her fingertips slowly fidgeting with his collar. “What about you? Aren’t you leaving?”

“Wei Biao is still recovering and can’t be moved yet. As for Meiying, she’s still adjusting to the box, under observation. We need to watch for another day or two. And also…”

Jiang Lian paused briefly, deciding not to hide it from her: “I think there’s something off about Shen Gun.”

Meng Qianzi’s body tensed, and she looked up in shock.

Honestly, she wasn’t afraid of opponents pulling stunts but feared her people dancing out of tune for no reason.

Jiang Lian reassured her: “I’m not certain yet, just suspicious, for two reasons. First, most of his friends have fallen ill and are withdrawing to Xining. By all accounts, he should accompany them, but he clearly won’t be going. That’s strange—what does he need to do? Second, some of his current behaviors seem… incongruous to me. If I stay, I can keep an eye on him.”

Meng Qianzi became uneasy after listening to him. She looked toward Shen Gun in the distance: he and Yan Hongsha were on either side, helping the person called Cao Yanhua with oxygen. This person, when fragile, truly consumed a lot of manpower.

“Will you… Be alright? Once we withdraw, only a few people will remain to handle the aftermath. Should I assign some people to help you?”

Jiang Lian shook his head. “This isn’t about numbers. Besides, Mountain Ghost suffered heavy casualties this time. The Elder Auntie probably ordered the withdrawal to leave this troublesome place quickly. If you assign people to me and a few more die, I can’t bear that responsibility.”

Toward the end, he smiled again. “Maybe I’m just overthinking it. Shen Gun might just want to stay for research… Let’s see. If anything happens, I’ll contact you immediately.”

Modern farewells, thanks to technological advances, are much more casual than in ancient times. In the past, letters took months to deliver; scholars who went to the capital for imperial exams might not return for three years. One goodbye could mean a lifetime. Even in the 1990s romantic dramas, when the male lead couldn’t catch the female lead’s plane, or the female lead missed the male lead’s ship, it signaled the end of the story.

In Jiang Lian’s eyes, this separation wasn’t significant.

But he never imagined that because of two chickens, this parting would suddenly rise to the poetic heights of “Outside the long pavilion, beside the ancient road, where green grass stretches to the horizon, I ask when you will return, and when you do, don’t hesitate.”

Cao Jiefang refused to board the vehicle. Jiang Qiaoqiao hung her head. The mountain chicken and the snow chicken stood facing each other silently in the open space beside the vehicle.

More than ten vehicles departed one after another, until only Luo Ren’s group’s vehicle remained.

Cao Yanhua sat by the open car door, huffing and puffing on oxygen. Luo Ren and Mu Dai were both half-asleep—altitude sickness was strange; those with better physical strength and constitution often suffered more severely.

After a night’s rest, Wan San had somewhat adapted. Noticing the car wasn’t moving, he opened his eyes to look outside and said weakly, “Why not… take this one along too?”

Jiang Lian’s temple twitched slightly.

He was reluctant to part with it. In that moment, prematurely and across species, he suddenly empathized with the reluctance of a father giving away his daughter in marriage.

Shen Gun reminded Wan San, “Little San San, this is a snow chicken that lives at high altitudes. It can’t leave. If it follows Jiefang, it might not survive.”

Jiang Lian’s temple twitched again: this wouldn’t do. A male mountain chicken friend could find another, but if its life was lost, that would be the end.

Wan San closed his eyes again. “Then why not leave Jiefang here? It seems to adapt well to the highlands.”

Cao Yanhua thought this suggestion was good: after all, Cao Jiefang was already separated from them geographically. Whether it lived in Kunlun or at Phoenix Hill made little difference to him.

He just wanted the car to leave quickly: altitude sickness wasn’t a disease, but when it struck, it could be life-threatening. He was desperate to breathe the air at lower altitudes.

Yan Hongsha, nearby, understood. She reached out to close the car door and shouted to Cao Jiefang: “Jiefang, you’re staying here then!”

She then signaled to the driver: “Alright, let’s go.”

The engine started, and Cao Jiefang’s entire body of feathers suddenly bristled.

The wheels began to move forward, and Cao Jiefang was visibly agitated. It flapped its wings a couple of times, its head busy looking first at the car, then at Jiang Qiaoqiao.

The car moved, accelerating along the way.

If it didn’t leave now, it would truly be left behind. In that critical moment, Cao Jiefang let out a resonant “he duo luo.” Its middle-aged, plump chicken body moved with unexpected swiftness, flying like a gust of wind toward the Hummer.

The car didn’t stop, but a door opened midway. Cao Jiefang instantly leaped into the vehicle.

Then the car continued downhill. Jiang Lian was certain he heard Cao Yanhua’s hoarse shout: “Huo Dong… Xining… let’s drink!”

He also heard Yan Hongsha’s angry yell: “I said it all along, this is a scoundrel chicken.”

After that, the highway fell silent.

The cars, engine sounds, dust, and exhaust were all gone, leaving only a quiet road winding through the mountains from here and meandering toward the mountains in the distance.

This quietness also spread throughout the camp. With so many felt tents—earlier not enough to accommodate everyone—now empty and desolate, their doors and windows inscribed with loneliness.

Jiang Lian saw that Jiang Qiaoqiao still stood in place, staring blankly in the direction the car had gone, before lowering her small head.

He walked over, crouched down, and took Jiang Qiaoqiao into his arms.

Jiang Qiaoqiao was extremely docile, not moving restlessly but nestling deeper into his embrace, like all sorrowful beings seeking a warm hug.

His phone rang. Jiang Lian freed one hand to check it. Meng Qianzi had sent a WeChat voice message asking: “What happened with those two chickens just now? Is Qiaoqiao interested in that Revolutionary whatever?”

She always forgot the mountain chicken’s name; if not Revolutionary, then Liberation—something patriotic anyway.

Jiang Lian smiled and replied: “Our girl has just seen too little of the world. She hasn’t seen a flower garden and lets a random blossom fill her eyes.”

After saying this, he reached out to stroke Jiang Qiaoqiao’s soft back, comforting her: “It’s alright. In the future, we’ll meet someone better.”

That night, Wei Biao, Kuang Meiying, Jiang Lian, and Shen Gun still shared the same quarters.

Actually, with nine-tenths of the camp’s felt tents now empty, Jiang Lian had intended to move out. But Meiying complained that with the camp suddenly empty, she felt scared. Shen Gun also said moving around was too troublesome, so they might as well make do with the current arrangement.

Meiying’s fear was normal. With the camp suddenly so quiet, even Jiang Lian felt uneasy when going out at night to relieve himself. But Shen Gun didn’t seem like someone who would find things troublesome.

If they weren’t moving, none of them would move. Anyway, he would sleep in the same room as Shen Gun.

Before sleeping, Jiang Lian chatted with Meng Qianzi for a while, but the signal was poor. It took several minutes for a text message to go through. Eventually, perhaps due to the strong mountain wind outside blowing away the already fragile signal, the loading icon spun and spun, as if it could turn until the end of time.

Jiang Lian gritted his teeth, yanked his sleeping bag over his head, and went to sleep.

…

In the middle of the night, he was awakened by an extremely faint rustling sound.

It wasn’t exactly an awakening—he hadn’t been sleeping deeply, constantly on edge, as if waiting for something to happen. And it finally did.

He held his breath, trying to move very lightly and slowly lowering a corner of his sleeping bag to look outside.

The room had no lights on, but in the dim glow of the night, he could make out general silhouettes. There were only three other people in this room besides himself, and he was too familiar with each of their outlines.

It was Shen Gun, tiptoeing out of bed, just like a thief. Even his breathing was suppressed. He silently opened the door first, wedging something—probably his shoes—in the doorway to prevent it from suddenly closing, then went to pick up the box.

Jiang Lian made no sound, just quietly watching as Shen Gun carried the box out and gently closed the door.

As soon as the door shut, Jiang Lian immediately sprang from his bed. He had been somewhat prepared beforehand, wearing most of his clothes except for his outer coat and pants. Getting dressed and putting on shoes didn’t take much time, and he quickly followed out.

As soon as he stepped outside, a strong night wind hit his face. Jiang Lian shielded his eyes with his hand. With the main group gone, the camp no longer had night lights. In this vast darkness, it was initially difficult to determine which way the person had gone.

Fortunately, he soon had guidance: he saw a moving, extremely faint, prismatic halo.

It was the Phoenix Plume. The luminescence of the Phoenix Plume had always been a headache, difficult to conceal perfectly. Carrying a Phoenix Plume was like having a lighthouse automatically erected above one’s head—everyone could tell your whereabouts.

Clearly, after leaving the room, Shen Gun had gone elsewhere to retrieve other items he had placed there beforehand.

The halo was heading toward the parking lot.

Looking from a distance, only two or three vehicles remained in the parking lot, left for the final retreat of the remaining personnel.

But this was odd—Shen Gun didn’t seem to know how to drive.

Increasingly puzzled, Jiang Lian followed quietly. Though there was no one along the way, and Shen Gun, lacking martial skills, would never notice him, Jiang Lian still occasionally crouched to hide. Drawing closer, he saw an off-road vehicle with its headlights on and trunk open. A mountain dweller was waiting there. Upon seeing Shen Gun, he hurried over to take the large and small packages from Shen Gun’s hands and placed them in the trunk.

Shen Gun walked straight to the front and sat in the passenger seat.

The mountain dweller secured the items, pushed to test their stability, then closed the trunk. Just as he was about to walk around to the front of the car, his nose and mouth were suddenly covered, and his body was instantly pulled down. At the same time, a very low male voice sounded in his ear: “Ready to depart?”

The mountain dweller desperately twisted his head and struggled, his hand trying to reach for his waist. However, in the next moment, he calmed down: in the light of the taillights, he recognized that this person was Jiang Lian.

Earlier in the day, a rumor had spread: this Young Master Lian would likely become Miss Meng’s “significant other” in the future. Everyone needed to assess the situation and avoid offending him recklessly. If he whispered in Miss Meng’s ear at bedtime, the consequences could be severe.

From his gaze, Jiang Lian realized that such aggressive behavior was unnecessary, so he released his hold.

The mountain dweller quickly nodded: “Departing.”

This wasn’t a good place to talk. Jiang Lian pointed to the back of a felt tent not far away: “Go tell him you need to use the bathroom, then meet me over there.”

…

A few minutes later, Jiang Lian strode toward the vehicle. The mountain dweller was similar in build to him, so they exchanged clothes that fit well. With the strong wind, he tightened his snow cap and adjusted his scarf.

As he sat in the driver’s seat, he quickly glanced at Shen Gun.

Shen Gun hadn’t noticed him at all, seeming somewhat dazed.

Jiang Lian reached out to turn off the interior light and said in a lowered voice: “Let’s go.”

Shen Gun finally reacted, hurriedly nodding: “Yes, head to the valley entrance called ‘Cai Dan.'”

Cai Dan was the narrow valley where they had entered the mountains. Vehicles could only go that far; beyond that point, one had to travel on foot. Walking continuously, it would take over two days to reach the Nine Winding Intestines.

Jiang Lian started the vehicle.

The night highway through the Kunlun Mountains was even quieter than during the day, so quiet it could cause a sense of spatial and temporal disorientation. Modern traces were already sparse here. Sitting in the car with the road beneath, looking outside revealed only wilderness, antiquity, and the unchanging permanence of tens of thousands of years.

The wheels rolled over meter after meter of road.

Shen Gun remained dazed. During one of his dazed moments, he suddenly remembered something and asked Jiang Lian: “Um, have you smelled anything strange? Like a fishy, foul odor?”

Jiang Lian, still disguising his voice, answered: “No.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Shen Gun sigh in relief, with one hand instinctively resting protectively over his stomach.

…

After rounding another bend, the car suddenly pulled to the side and slowly stopped.

Once the car stopped, even the engine sound disappeared. The immense silence took on texture, weight, and even malice, heavily encircling them from all sides. Shen Gun felt nervous and instinctively raised his head, turning toward Jiang Lian: “What’s wrong? Do you need to… use the bathroom again…?”

He couldn’t finish his sentence.

A dark, cold gun barrel was pointing directly at his forehead.